That’s a sweep at home.
Jeff Hoffman was once again strong.
The bats socked dong after dong.
Yet when the sands called time,
and the clock did chime,
the side of the scoreboard was wrong.
These Cincinnati Reds lost three straight.
They’ve managed to hit past their weight.
The pitching, though,
has developed quite slow,
and they can’t even win posting 8.
The bullpen is a complete mess.
Each arm’s confidence less and less.
Starters hand them the ball,
with hopes of some gall,
But they’ve folded with each sign of stress.
This lunacy starts at the top.
The owner, the payroll did drop.
Give away arms for free,
to the pocketbooks’ glee,
Now fawning outside the pawn shop.
Go from here I do not know where.
The balloon, it’s lost most its air.
The first punch has hit,
we’re losing our shit,
and trying so hard to still care.
The Cardinals and Dodgers await,
looking for servings of Reds on their plate.
Turn these tides they must,
or risk losing trust;
this storm, I beg thee abate.