26 September 2017: Three jacks to clinch more games this fall at home!

Three jacks to clinch more games this fall at home!
Those Friars stood no chance when faced with wrath
Of Yas, A-Gon, and Corey. Those balls roamed
Beyond the boundaries with powered path!
Wood wasn’t great, but managed to hold back
And then the bullpen just let one on base
In final three – surprising was their knack
Since recently, they’ve brought shame to my face.
Though not a noise at bat, young Cody’s arm
In center-field was showcased with a throw
That Myers could not beat; by his daft charm,
Assist quite hard and crime to call it slow!
Our last home game of season calls on Rich
To make sure the finale does not glitch.

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20 September 2017: An all-around bullpen catastrophe

An all-around bullpen catastrophe
Has unleashed yet again, delaying clinch
Of NL West; more delay to our glee.
Each game’s annoying like a little pinch.
The combined efforts of Ross and Luis
Kept champagne in the bottles. Such disgrace
Since our offense brought all they could to cease
This anxious aura. Shoot me into space
Since we have lost this series to the worst
Team in the league, besides San Francisco.
If we get swept, ’tis time to call the hearse
Since my impatience deals a fatal blow.
Please block the brooms – oh pitchers, do your best
As Kenta leads your charge the cross the quest!

15 September 2017: The slide has only given energy

The slide has only given energy
As we go up and own with every part
By shutting down the team in ‘ole DC
And getting this series off to good start.
The Wood was not good, for he was so great
And only let four runners get on base.
Oh Puig, JT, and Seager held their weight
To give the lead a large amount of space.
Though Baez threw one scoreless, I still fear
Since he walked two, and that will not go well
In playoffs where no lead is safe and dear.
And when he’s slow, at him I seek to yell.
Four straight is possible, if Rich decides
To give the Nationals his highest tides.

9 September 2017: The inexplicable sad streak remains

The inexplicable sad streak remains
As it seems we’ve forgotten how to win,
Like our mind has been trapped in sombre rains.
Have we committed some bush unknown sin?
Sir Wood got rocked; the pun has no intent.
The offense did real good job indeed
As Puig doubled in two to make a dent,
Then Logan and Andre made the ball bleed.
But it was not enough to even tie
Once in the game. The pain just carries on
To the next day. I do believe they try
And are just having trouble finding song.
Please, Rich, oh please: deliver us your best!
And offense: make your mark so we aren’t stressed!

3 September 2017: The Wood was burned; both bats and pitcher failed

The Wood was burned; both bats and pitcher failed
To bring light in our season’s roughest stretch.
Despite two shots from Chris and Cody, jailed
It seems our winning ways have been. A wretch
Of a team they’ve become in recent days.
But as Doc said, this dip will only shake
And not destroy. ‘Tis really hard to faze
This team; we just need something that will wake
The magic that has taken a siesta
With that comfy lead, though snakes are hot
And trying to disturb our fall fiesta.
Time to boil serpents in the pot!
Redeem yourself, oh Rich! You’re back at home
And shine you shall like stars’ effect on chrome!

21 August 2017: A back-and-forth affair that ended sweet

A back-and-forth affair that ended sweet
When Puig said bye to ball and put us up!
Watching his maturation is a treat
And cheers me like hot chocolate in a cup!
But we would not have gotten there without
The slam from Grandyman that took us from
A trail to lead! And though Sir Wood did pout
Because he let three shots, we saved from glum.
That eighth was hard to watch, but when the pen
Pitched yond the ninth, ’twas better to spectate.
“It’s a matter of who, not if or when”
As Joe said. That win’s number eighty-eight!
Another step towards clinching, watch the clock!
Today’s mound-taker is a man named Brock.

15 August 2017: Sometimes we wait real late to take the win

Sometimes we wait real late to take the win.
Last night, until the eighth, the game was tied.
Then five runs came! We quickly hit their shin
And said, “This is L.A., you’re on our ride.”
Wood’s only blemish was a leadoff shot
He let. Despite that, seven innings swell!
The bullpen followed; let us hitters hot
Move far ahead by hitting balls like hell!
Barnes broke it wide, then Corey did some more!
We did not need a Kenley to save game,
Since six us, them one, was the final score!
Still, no one’s able to put out our flame.
A happy birthday to our newest friend,
Yu Darvish! Pitch well! Our wishes, we send.