/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/37078974/20140815_ajw_bs4_280.JPG.0.jpg)
(First start this:
)
The season is on fire, and there's no manager at the wheel
And the broadcast is all muddied with a thousand lonely anecdotes
And a dark wind blows
The front office is corrupt
And we're on so many August waivers
With the players to be named later and the ticket offices closed
We're trapped in the belly of this horrible team
And Cliff Lee's contract is bleeding to death
The rubber tree plant has fallen down
And the WB Masons are all leering
And the flags are all dead at the top of their poles
It went like this:
The starting pitching tumbled in on itself
Buchanan elevating fastballs
Pickoffs turned to rubble
And an outfield assist turned to an error
The bullpen was beautiful on fire
All untouchable fastballs for a third of an inning
Before everything was washed in a Diekman haze
Casilla said "strike out Rollins and Utley -
These are truly the last plays.
You grabbed the standings
And we fell lower into them
Like a summer daydream
Or a fever
We woke up in October and fell a little further down
For sure it's the Delaware Valley of death
John Montgomery opens up his wallet
And it's filled with blood.
Source: FanGraphs