A short poem on the Cubs' offense

Heavy on righties and uppercut heroes,
they'll score fifteen one day, then for two days it's zero.

With little in mind but swings prodigious,
they act as if singles are sacreligious.

For if they should happen to get on the bases
a baserunning error will redden their faces.

And bases on balls are something quite shameful,
but shallow pop flies are not disdainful.

So swing hard, you Cubs, with no consideration
for need of runners or situation.

For according to you the wins are not relevant
the game is to show that you're strong as an elephant.

And if in the process you've blown the wild card,
and hoisted yourself on your own petard,

no matter to you, you're still filthy rich!
Why should you care if your loyal fans bitch.

--A loyal fan