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The Wild Card: Shakespearean Tragedy

Alternate title: Iambic Pentameter for dummies.

Paul Gilham



Forsooth, our team is not performing well
Mayhaps we should focus on making grit
Wearily, our squad will not play like shit
For then Hades himself sends us to hell.

This one here strikes out like Hector in Troy
And the Upton one, he mopes around much
Send him to Atlanta, get players such
There is Martin Prado, he hits with joy

There is a Trumbo, hearty and strong
He will smasheth the dingers with great ease
And whilst the strike out devils shall come tease
Vindication, I shant be shown wrong.


Verily, good sir, I offer bounties
You and sir Gibson shant more now
For you shall be here that time shant have cow
And our names forever shrined this county

But wait! A no good Rogue donning wrong gear!
Do mine eyes decieve? Villians wear Dodger?
Stop them now, lest I become a codger!
Change your garments, or wrath of all hell near!



My ears deceive mine eyes, all I have heard.
The shadows inform Eaton blackguard fool
Chris Young spat and cursed his third and fifth tool
The sacred clubhouse echoed of the slurred

Though I ponder: convenient it is
To justify shady transactions now
Stabbing the character of good men how
Once they are away they flourish; strange tis



Let us sing praises the Goldschmidt, he named
Majestic home runs, and a smile to boot
One most valuable and he shant scoot
All hail the many fastballs he has tamed!

The scoundrel Lincecum shall quiver thus
For mighty Paul bringeth the smackethdown
Chained to the hell of being in same town
Timmy should take his stache on bus!



Diamondbacks! I hath immersed in your pool!
For I am victorious, and you not
And that entitles me to this one spot
For our celebration makes us this cool

This is fun and good, shant not flip a bat
Nor cause old sport scribes not to behave poor
They scream and yell that I am such a boor
Like I entered their homes and killed their cats

Yet I am victorious, and I claim
This domain of Poseidon in thou realm
I see one approach, I put on my helm
For this one hits not hard still can main


Foul foul sir! These waters are not for you
I shant allow this, it is not strong, right
Only in power I'd put up no fight
We shall combat, and I'll fight with my shoe!



I shant be wrong, I shall all the time
Do not do anything rash, grit shall win
Exile me and your team chances go fin
You can not silence me like I'm some mime


You shall be spared, however I decree
Thy wit and will requires extra sight
Thou hast exaggerated much your might
So mine will shall be to this oversee


I am slain! Thou hast daggered my spine here
For I achieve equal footing win lose
Yet you believe in your heart I hit booze
This world, I am not for long I fear

I shall get more relievers shant you?
Closers for prospects, that bend to your will
Together we can turn this around still!
And thoust fans shant become those who would boo!


I arrive to correct the chickens and hen
Let me call and signal to the bullpen