by James Finn Garner
To diagnose the Yankees’ ills,
Don’t sacrifice a gopher
And scan for signs in its entrails —
The problem is the ofers.
Infante was tattooed, not tagged.
The call at second wasn’t kosher
But potential outrage only dragged
Down this lineup full of ofers.
Beyond JV, the Tiges ain’t sound —
Hell, they’re staying with their “closer”! —
But slow-pitch softball might confound
This Murderer’s Row of ofers.
Get ready for a shopping spree
When the season’s mercifully over.
A blind man’s dog throws up to see
This lousy bunch of ofers.
CanOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Counting 26 O’s, one for every fruitless at-bat in his current streak.
Also rhymes with “loafers”.
Ofer heaven’s sake.
Your poem is a bright spot in a Cardinal fan’s day. Muy fabulosO.