by James Finn Garner
For one hundred years, nothin’ but tears and “Wait til next year”
Nothing to do but hoist a few nine-dollar beers
What are the odds? Did we anger the gods?
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
Epstein’s at work, trying to stock up the old farm
Call up sure things, they bring nothing, nothing but harm
. Try to fix the park, the fanbase screams
. Just try to find new money streams
. Rebuild the bleachers? They’re still torn down!
. Cards fans and rats all over town
Not much to say ‘bout Felix Pie, another “sure bet.”
Itzuris and Guzman — what’s the use, man? One more null set.
Calling Marmol to save’s like digging your grave
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
. But Castro, Alcantara and Baez
. Might be as good as Epstein says
. Jorge Soler’s a beast, and — WOW!
. John Lester’s here? Please shoot me now!
Try to temper hope, not be a dope, but it’s getting hard
Everyone’s cryin’ to see Kris Bryant in the ballyard
Reverse the Curse? We couldn’t get worse.
There’s just one thing to say, we’ve made our play:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!