by Stu Shea
So Roger’s coming back at last.
Be still my heart that beats so fast!
Forgive me if I seem to joke
At Clemens’ latest blow of smoke.
The baseball world stands, mouth agape
As Rocket Man adjusts his cape.
Forgive me if this time I sit
And disregard this silly shit.
It’s not as if he’ll join my team,
So why should I, like others, scream,
“Roger’s back! Oh, praise the Lord!”
If my team his paycheck can’t afford?
“He wants a ring! He loves the game!”
The song remains fore’er the same.
“It’s not the money, not the perks,
It’s ’cause he loves his baseball, jerks!”
So Big George forks up mega-mills
For 15 visits to the hill.
(He doesn’t have to hang around
Those days when he’s not on the mound.)
His “veteran leadership” and arm
Calm Torre’s typical alarm.
But is it right to pay and pay
A guy who plays the game this way?
No matter what his season holds,
I’m waiting til next year unfolds,
And he retires, the spoiled dunce,
And keeps a promise just this once.
