A Poem for Carl Pavano

He'll break out in some rare disease,
That turns his arm to cottage cheese,
A fungus will infect his rod,
If there's indeed a Yankee God.

He'll give up six runs in the first,
And go from being bad to worst,
He'll feel the heat of our Jihad,
If there's indeed a Yankee God.

And if there is no Man upstairs,
No one to hear our heartfelt prayers,
He still shall face a long hard slide,
If there's one ounce of Yankee pride.