Waxing Poetics

Game 107 - Mets

Mets 8, Brewers 5
Record: 60-47

They say brevity is the soul of Whit, though you'd never know it from my last post. Today, you shall. I won't even give you two paragraphs of prose on last night's win. Ah, but there's more to blogging than prose...


My patience for Extra Innings
And the Brewers booth is thinning
ESPN, another choice
But Steve Phillips' voice
Sent me right back to the beginning

Prince Fielder's mammoth bomb
Didn't shake Ollie's aplomb
But Mr. Green . . . with the sprawl
As the ball skipped to the wall
Cost us all of our calm

Ramon & Marlon each
Hit three-run balls out of reach
Ollie fanned eleven
To go 10-7
And you wish I were still at the beach

But I'll end this silliness soon
For fear of seeming the buffoon
I'm hitting new lows
And the Red Sox -- who knows?
Rob may as well be on the moon

That's all. Oh, and Brian Lawrence starts for the Metsies this afternoon. Worrisome? Sure. Surprising? At this point, hardly.