I stare at my screen,
Not sure what to write.
I’m numb at this point
From this injury plight.
It’s not so much a plight,
As it is a massacre.
This Yankee team
Has taken more hits than a boxer,
Who keeps getting knocked down,
And standing back up,
Only for the next blow,
It just doesn’t let up.
From one night to the next
Another Yankee gets hurt.
I have a feeling this current medical staff
Will soon be looking for work.
30 players have hit the IL,
38 stints to be exact,
So many new faces,
50 different ones, in fact.
We’ve used 26 pitchers,
That’s more than a roster,
Another 14 infielders,
Any more and we’ll soon have imposters
Playing for the Yankees,
Yeah this could be true,
Grab a glove and bat,
You’re not scared of MRI booths, are you?
The back and forth news of injuries and come-backs,
Have our heads spinning,
Wondering who the heck is next.
Just when we thought our team was rounding into shape,
More injury blows are threatening our ticker-tape parade.
As fans we’re crying out,
“Please stop this madness!”
We’re going to bed every night,
Praying for the miraculous.
We’re offering our own groins to Gary,
And watching Judge’s expressions.
“Was he grimacing right there?”
Someone, please stop this obsession!
See, we fans are going crazy,
That’s how weird things have been.
Even Boone is strangely calling injuries
“A gray kind of thing.”
What does that even mean?
We’re making things up now?!
Sigh, everyone take a deep breath,
And relax the eyebrows.
Because in spite of it all,
Guys are showing up somehow.
Ready to play,
“Next Man Up” is their cry,
And “Let Brett bang,”
To let umpires know why
They’ve been so bad behind the dish,
Calling strikes at the socks.
“DON’T YOU KNOW,”
Boone will tell you,
“MY GUYS ARE SAVAGES IN THE BOX?!”
They just keep stepping up,
With every new face,
These next men up
Have played themselves into first place.
These boys keep throwing their fists up,
Ready to fight their way through,
While Maybin spreads the love
With “Hug Season”, too,
Because they keep mashing home runs,
And breaking all the records
But nobody cares,
Because of all they’ve weathered…
From the one record we didn’t wanna break:
The most IL’d players in history,
Can anyone explain this?
I blame Jacoby Ellsbury.
We didn’t draw it up this way,
Boone’s probably gained some gray hairs,
Nothing like Girardi, though,
Dude aged fifty years.
We’ve all aged some watching this year unfold,
It’s been an adventure, to say the least,
A team and year to behold.
It’s almost become predictable,
Injury after injury.
Our #ReplaceFor28 motto,
Is now an old decree.
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Another Yankee is hurt,
‘Yada, yada, yada’,
Is this really news?”
Fans, these Yankees are here for it,
They’ve battled through ALL the adversity.
And as our man CC already said,
It’ll just make for a “really good World Series DVD.”
