Another year, another set of Yankee trouncings.

Mes chèrs fans-in-hell,
It is with psyche fried in greatest measure that we watch the Twins tonight.
And now, it’s unlikely we relax; we just boggle and stare
As this Target Field club shall present…
…no winner.

Failed the test, failed the test,
Fans were nervous, rightly guessed
That the Yankees landed spankies
On our bottoms all abscessed.
No one spurs, just demurs
To the pinstripe-donned monsieurs;
As the rout gets ever vicious,
Are they trying? Not auspicious!
Take a swing? Not a chance,
Just a swivel in the pants
While the stadium in unison gets stressed;
Though it’s a lovely venue,
There’s no joy here when you
Failed the test, failed the test, failed the test!

Looked like poo in their play:
Bradley rocked and sent away,
Larnach’s grounders mean he founders;
Back to rounders or croquet.
At their home unprepared,
And the Pohlads haven’t cared:
None are lower than the owners—
Need a kick in their cojoners.
Trade the best, sack the scouts,
Plug their ears to all our pouts
While they’re crowing in their suits that they’re the best;
(Yes, I’m a caustic critic—
Joe is parasitic.)
Failed the test,
(And the rest? Many DUDS devoid of zest.)
Failed the test, failed the test, failed the test!

Still are some uncurving,
Of the STUD mark too deserving;
Brooks and Royce and Austin, choice with bat and ball.
Someday, there’ll be days when this is fruitful;
Currently, we doubt they’ll show at all.
For years they’ve been losing
In a streak that’s most confusing;
It’s a great surprise if they should end our ills.
Most days leave us feeling like an ass’le…
Strings a-snapping daily
Like a broken ukulele!

It’s a test, it’s a test,
Just another sporting quest.
(Goose’s cunning with this punning
Gets the Comment Here Addressed.)
Does it hurt? Does it sting?
Every evening, hands we wring.
While the offense fumbles rallies,
I’ll be sadly watching tallies;
Will they boil, getting hot?
It’s a wish, but likely not.
Clean it up? We know that Joe ain’t acquiesced.
We might be loyal, true,
But this is Number Two:
They failed the test,
Failed the test, failed the test, failed the test…

Failed the test, failed the test;
Why this passion we invest?
We’ve been fearing life of jeering,
But this year we can’t digest.
We’ve been had, we’ve been fleeced
By the owners’ pockets greased.
Now the exit queues are growing;
Our enthusiasm’s going…

…Score by score, run by run,
Making outs? The Twins aren’t fun!
That’s the season’s awful truth that we’ve confessed.
Tonight the Twins are beaten
‘Cause that wealthy cretin
Failed the test, failed the test, failed the test:
He failed the test!