I'm in a weird mood, so here's a little something from Dr. Sigmund Schadenfreude(TM)
(With profuse apologies to Dr. Seuss....)
Did you ever have a feeling
that the medjock was a RedSock?
or the peejay was a Blue Jay?
or the wankee was a Yankee?
or the nastro was an Astro?
But you wouldn’t be a codger
to think that Roger is a dodger.
It was easy to dominate
the inside of the plate
when he didn’t have to face
the opposition’s pace.
Would he be so ready
an opposing batter to plunk,
if he ever had to ward off
a fastball to his junk?
Could he throw inside heat
and the chin-high splitter
if he couldn’t pass his at-bat
to his designated hitter?
Is the Rocket a guy
who’s really really cool
or is Roger just a big,
colossal, fucking tool?
Is the so-called shoo-in
to the baseball Hall of Fame
just another brick
in the cheaters’ Wall of Shame?
Would his heater still smile,
could his slider still have funk,
if he didn’t once a while
jab a syringe in his trunk?
Would his curve still have verve,
could he throw the frozen rope,
would he still have the nerve
if he didn’t have his dope?
So a Brian takes a fryin’
And an Andy takes a bandy
From a Congress that’s a-pryin’
about tailor-made candy,
But when friend doesn’t bend
and comes clean and just ‘fesses
you know that Heater the Cheater
just multiplied his messes.
The family man, Oh who
would he throw under the bus?
To save his name, to save his fame,
the family man, would he throw us?
Would he, could he, throw his wife?
Could he, should he, for his life?
Would he, did he, throw his mother?
His lawyer, doctor, and any other?
Would he, could he, throw his nanny?
Would he even throw his granny?
But if Roger thought he was in trouble
for sticking some zass in his ass,
Boy is he going to see that trouble bubble double
if the ‘family man’ was bedding a 15-year-old lass.