Seven months ago when they dusted off the bats and mitts,
Thirty teams dreamt of perfect games and walk-off hits.
But summer is long and the contenders have dwindled,
Now only the dreams of two teams remain kindled:
To one side the reigning King and his two Cy Young winners,
To the other the Evil Empire, infamous free spending sinners.
A great drought had plagued the former ‘til a season ago,
When they stung the young Rays in a five-game TKO.
The latter now bears the stink of many seasons gone wrong,
For in the Big Apple a decade uncrowned is too long.
The Boss paces his box and scowls like the Grinch,
“With all the money I’ve spent this win better be a cinch!”
His players file out, all pinstriped and clean-shaven,
Onto their new field, the Bronx’s own long-ball haven.
The Autumn air is thin, there’ll be home runs aplenty,
Between them twelve men have already hit twenty.
The champs will depend on their enviable rotation,
Among them Pedro the Great and a rookie sensation.
But what can we expect from the man at the back?
Last year Lidge blew no saves—this year he’s whack.
Closing will be of little concern to the others,
Now 39, Rivera still throws the best cutters.
And what of A-Rod, the $250 million man?
Will he finally play hero? New York hopes he can.
But in the event Lee and Hamels prove too much,
CC and A.J. will have to provide the winning touch.
Neither team has been tested so far this post-season,
Neither Angels nor Dodgers could give them good reason.
The titleholders could’ve suffered a World Series hangover,
But alas—they’re still standing! And it’s late October.
There will surely be blunders and ninth-inning comebacks,
Flares to shallow center that won’t let fielders relax.
The fates of two cities now hang in the balance,
Their teams engaged in a seven-game, Spartan phalanx.
Yankees versus Phillies, still blank are the pages;
Their fans all await a Fall Classic for the ages.
Share your verses with Walker at wloetscher@georgetownvoice.com.
