ON AARON JUDGE: Better than the Perfect Pitch

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MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF A LAPSED METS FAN

At one time about baseball
There was little I didn’t know
From Tinker to Evers
To Chance to Cano.

But that knowledge has slipped
As I’ve watched the game less
Which I was ok with
‘Till my ignorance caused a mess:

One night I awoke
Suddenly from a crash
That sounded like a baseball
Coming through my window sash.

I squinted to gather
What it really was I saw
Sitting there resembling
A fluffy bear paw.

Sensing my fear it
Spoke first calling, “Child,
You need worry not
For my manner is mild.

At least to you it will be
For you’ve wronged me not.”
“Who are you?” I quaked.
“If we’ve met … I’ve forgot.”

“Some call me ‘Donnie Lipsmack’”
it laughed, “when I’m brash.
But most use my full name:
The Ghost of Don Mattingly’s Mustache.”

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