Doncha Know? The Poem

John Sterling would call him
The pride of the Yanks,
Not a fellow inclined
To be breaker of banks,
Gold glove on each hand,
And a gun for each throw.
And with every home run,
John would cry,"DONCHA KNOW?"
 
And, oh, how John shouted
When Robbie did swing,
Never thinking of suitors
Those homers could bring,
Flatly promised the fans
That their hero would stay,
And his voice just went still
When Cano went away.

So, these days, batting third
Yes, it's Robbie Cano.
He's the King of Seattle,
Awash in his dough.
But when he smacks a ball
For a Mariner score.
There's no "RIBBIE FROM ROBBIE"
Exclaimed any more.

And so we learn lessons
From baseball and life:
First: A player's a player;
Don't make him your wife.
He will stay for a season,
And then one day, he'll go.
He will shatter your heart,
Just like Robbie Cano.

And then there's the truth
About money and fame,
If you're earning your life
From a childhood game.
You can go anywhere
That vast riches bestow,
But no one shouts,
"ROBBIE CANO! DONCHA KNOW?"