By Kevin Hennessy
When the Twins face the Yankees,
Mere mortals we don’t just see:
Gods as great as those of Greeks
Stand upon tall mountain peaks.
A-Rod, king of playoff clutch,
Jeter, dare we stray too much?
Mark T., we should four-ball pass,
Jorge? He isn’t out of gas.
Then the bullpen, dare we see?
Lights out when we think of thee!
Mariano, four outs, one two three!
(Four, with a single scattered in betwee’)
Gardenhire says, “We don’t play with our wallets,”
But 0-10 don’t sit well on our palates.
Sobbing into our homer hankies,
We bow to and worship the dreaded Yankees.
Published in History, Minnesota Twins, New York Yankees, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | No Comments