by Nathan Rudy
My Mets will win games, that much is clear,
With Harvey, deGrom and others this year.
If Cuddyer can hit, and Flores finds his mitt,
We won’t toss Alderson out on his ear.
But the best is out west, in the dry Vegas air,
Pitching their hearts out as arm tendons tear.
Matz, Monterro and Thor now are great,
But can’t reach the majors ‘til 21 days late.
So fans of the Mets will continue to fret,
Ownership’s bank account hasn’t recovered yet,
And hope for a year when we surpass 81,
And get to the playoffs ‘fore this century’s done.
Published in Management, New York Mets, Players, Pure doggerel, Youth | Link to this poem | 1 Comment