The Sinatra song they SHOULD be playing after every remaining Yankees game.

 

The summer wind was blowin’ out

At least half the year.

When Soto hit and Judge ran wild,

And we dreamed of golden rings.

Two monsters and the summer wind.

 

Like painted kites

Those long-ball nights

They went flyin’ by.

The world was new

’Neath a pinstriped blue 

Umbrella sky.

Then worse than

Poor Gleyber ran

Cashman sent it askew.

We lost it with the summer wind.

 

The autumn wind,

The winter wind

Will come and go.

As Giants fall,

And Knicks appall,

Through another barren winter.

 

And yes those days,

Those dismal days 

Will drag on and on.

As Gleyber clings

And Soto brings

Cheer to Flushing Meadow.

Where the hell can we go?

 

We’ll just have to wait,

For that same-old, same-old summer wind.