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Sonny Gray

by Doug K

Sonny Gray throws for the Yankees
He doesn’t know how to pitch.
He serves it over the plate or far away
We’re all in mourning
Throwing his whole career away.

He doesn’t let us down slowly.
We know we’re gonna lose in the end.
And Austin Romine non withstanding
Sonny Gray hasn’t a friend.

Sonny Gray’s pitches are soaring
Over the wall in right.
I guess he just has to cry from time to time.
Everyone’s scoring.
And it’s hard to win when you’re behind.

. . .

Looking at the baseball standings
in the morning
Looking at the trades that got away.
Wondering if where we are is worth
The things we’ve been through
Ending with a putz named Sonny Gray.

 

This post originally appeared on the Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is…caught.

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We Got Happ

by HoraceClarke66

We got H-a-a-a-ppp!
Inning after inning of pure crap!
When the odds are saying you’ll never win
Break out the gin
You sap!
‘Cause we got J.A. Happ!

We’re so Happy that we’re hummin’
Hmm-hmm-hmm!
That’s the Happy thing to do.
Ho-ho-ho!
‘Cause we know our ship will come in
Though it’s nine years over due.

What can we do, man
But can Cashman?

We got H-a-a-a-ppp!
Nice if Coops could be a genius, of course
But keep that old horse
Out on the mound!
‘Cause we hadda have Happ!

 

Originally appeared on the Yankees blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is….caught.

 

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Sonny Sends Regrets

by HoraceClarke66

With apologies to Sir Elton John.

Hey fans, park it on the sofa,
The Yanks are playin’ at home
But you might as well watch Oprah.
They’re servin’ up the fatted calf tonight
Don’t stick around
You’re gonna see balls flyin’
All around the pound.

Surrender all hope, ain’t you seen him yet?
Oh, but he’s so damned sad—
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.
Oh, he looks scared and he’s just awful
Oh, Sonny he’s truly bad.
He’s got no real fastball,
Stuff don’t break at all,
He made some 19-year-old look like Vla-a-a-ad
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.

Hey, Coops, give up on this phe-nom.
We know that you’re blinded
But it’s like tryna win Viet-nam.
Guess who’s McNamara in this scenario?
He wasn’t worth Fowler or Mate-o.
We shall survive but he needs to be gone.

Oh, Cashy, why is it you can’t see that yet?
Oh, but he’s so damned scared!
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.
Sonny, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny
Sonny, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny to the Mets . . .

 

Originally appeared on the Yankee blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is . . . caught.