by James Finn Garner
You say your batters can’t swing it?
Their whiffing gives you chills?
I got an old-school remedy for
Fixin’ all your ills.
Take all your Louisville Sluggers,
Arrange ’em in a stack,
Then get set for a mighty hoodoo
(There ain’t no turnin’ back).
Now get yourself some love dolls–
You know the kind I mean,
Those cuties made of polymerized
Inflate them gals and set them ’round
Your mighty pile of sticks
And pray for their blow-up blessings
And soon you’ll get your licks.
You’ll feel your eyeballs quicken
And your pencil fill with lead,
And by August your White Sox will be
Twenty games ahead.
But don’t blaspheme the rubber gods
Or disrespect their medicine,
Or they’ll do to you just what they did
To Brian Anderson.
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