The Reds situation is bleak.
Guillen’s trade was comic and weak.
Who gives a dang
About Aaron Harang?
And Valentine’s much less than Greek.
With Williamson (just call him Scott),
The Red Sox new bullpen is hot!
The whole Boston city
Is now feeling giddy.
The bullpen-by-what? I forgot.
The Giants held firm on the phone
When dealing for Sidney Ponson.
Ain’t much of a loss,
While Ainsworth’s worth really ain’t known.
George in his role of tycoon
Decided to get Aaron Boone.
Is taking the loss in
Giving up Claussen
Worth it? I guess we’ll know soon.
The M’s are left sour and betrayed,
As Gillick could make no sweet trade.
Fans tartly condemn him:
He’s got so much lemon,
Why won’t he make lemonade?
George is always mad because I
Play each time through imperfectly; the team expects
Perfection, or something approaching dominance, always
Resulting in victory, earned run averages
Consistently low, each member exceeding normal standards.
We eschew lovable loser status;
Winning is life; life is about meriting success;
Success often results in a nearly obsessive
Mania unleashed so success is never absent.
Juggernauts eat their enemies ravenously.
Rany and Neyer didn’t actually
Believe Royals’ optimism warranted notice,
But even reluctant reporters’ opinions alter
If brought astonishing new evidence zapping
Their understandable concerns. Knowledge ends reluctance.
Belief emerges laboriously. Time reveals a narrative.
Stories will emerge, evidence notwithstanding, every year.
Hope also reappears, vindicating every yea-sayer.
Many a central division opponent underestimated greatly Allard’s labor.
May Allard yell
“Luck is my ally!
Rob eats lard!” and flip off Royal doubters.
Veteran injuries leave languishing Arizona realistically expecting a lemon.
Old relics offer paltry excuses, sagging attendance.
With each broken bone,
Veterans are lost. Veteran efficency ratchets down eventually.
Old veterans end reigns. But all year
Kids offer play lofting over veteran experience.
Kids are the answer!
The Red Sox third baseman named Shea
Was recently traded awea.
The backup named Mueller
Was once roster fueller
But now he can plea everydea.
“Sheffield, Jones, and Jones.”
I like how that intones.
But nothing, in my view,
Beats “Alou, Alou, Alou.”
A Miller Park sausage was struck
By the butcherous Simon Le Buc.
To race by this brute
Requires a new route,
Since dogs are too beefy to duck.
The Generator of the Random Diamond Note
has current 40-man rosters in my latest upgrade.
To celebrate, I now present a song I wrote
from a randomly generated title that it made.
The Angels love Kevin Appier’s sense of humor, like the time when he got up and danced wiht the Rally Monkey to “Fortune Cookie Kind” by Seven Windmills.
Download the song:
Their pitchers keep yielding big knocks,
Their outfield’s a big pile of rocks,
Their hitting seems stuck,
And compounding their luck,
Their mascot contracts monkeypox.
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