The games men lose in life live after them; The wins are oft interred with their bones; So let it be with A-Rod. The New York Post hath told you A-Rod was lecherous: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath A-Rod answer'd it.
So here, under leave of Cashman and the rest - For Cashman is an knowledgeable man; So are they all, all knowledgeable men - Come I to speak in A-Rod's funeral.
He was our slugger, famous and proud to us: But Cashman says he became atrocious; And Cashman is a knowledgeable man. A-Rod hath brought eight post-seasons home to York, Whose ransoms did the Steinbreners' coffers fill: Did in one week A-Rod become atrocious? When the whole team fanned, and the fans hath booed: Atrociousness should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Cashman says he hath become atrocious; And Cashman is a knowledgeable man. You all did read in today's Lupica That we twice presented A-Rod with an MVP, And the ring he hath produced: was this atrociousness? Yet Cashman says he hath become atrocious; And, sure, he is a knowledgeable man. I speak not to disprove what Cashman speaks, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love A-Rod once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to rage against him? O judgment! thou art fled to Murdochian beasts, And fans have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the dugout there with A-Rod, And I must pause till it come back to me.