Oh! The (Last) Places You'll Go!

Listen up, you lousy Griffs.

No time for buts
Or ands
Or ifs!

The season's only two weeks new
And reasons to rejoice are few.

We're not in first, that much is true.
So what, pray tell, are we to do?

We cannot hit, we cannot run,
We're having very little fun.

We often just rely on luck
(Because Grant Balfour really sucks)

We have few steals, and fewer saves.
I fear this may go on for days.

This is why I've called you here,
So grab a seat and lend an ear.

Chow down on some grubble snacks,
Wash it down with wuzzlewhacks,

Then chase it with some floozle beer,
And tell me what I want to hear:

Who will save the Griffs this year?

He's crying inside, I assure you.

Ian Desmond? Oh, where to start?
Your batting average breaks my heart.
At the plate you're overzealous.
Your approach makes Vlad Guerrero jealous.

All things considered, it's very clear
That you won't save the Griffs this year.

"Perhaps it's me?" Chone Figgins asked,
As the rest of us stifled laughs.
"I play two spots. I've got some speed. I could be just what we need!"

Perhaps he's right. He could be great...if this were 2008.

But in three years, how far he fell...
Can't hit, can't field, can't even spell.

I'm sorry, Shawn. It's much too clear
That you can't save the Griffs this year.

BJ Upton cried, "Well then it's me!"
Then suddenly he bruised his knee.

And as he screamed, his ankle sprained.

His lower back began to strain.

His shoulder then became inflamed.

He writhed around the floor in pain.

The injuries that he sustained

Left his broken body maimed.

He tried to move, it was in vain.

Then I heard him softly claim:

"I'm sorry, boss," as he shed a tear.

"Guess I won't save the Griffs this year."

Then who will do it? Who's the one?

Our year's already come undone!

We can't pitch, we can't spell.

Seriously, guys...what the hell?

Our broken hearts and double plays

And maimed and sprained and strained X-Rays

Plus Andrew Bailey's DL stay

Forebode a very dreary May

And confirm what I have dearly feared:

Can no one save the Griffs this year?

Then suddenly from far, far back

Beneath a dark blue baseball cap

There came a voice, and what'd it say?

It nearly blew us all away:

He said, "I know just what this team needs.

I know what we need, indeed!

It's way more simple than it seems

And it will work...it's guaranteed!"

"It's all so simple, gentlemen..."

The man in the blue hat said then.

And then he said the next thing he said:

"We simply must become best friends."

"With best friends, your worries come to an end.

You cannot be sad when you have best friends.

Best friends are the best friends that you can befriend.

So befriend some best friends 'til the losing streak ends!"

And what happened next for the Griffs team, you say?
Ian Desmond's average rose three points that day.

"Best friends will help us not to lose!"
Cried a happy Nelson Cruz.

"Best friends will help me change my luck!"
Said Grant Balfour (who still really sucks)

"We'll be the best!" screamed Mark Teixeira

Because Mark Teixeira is so Mark Teixeira.

Corks were popped on whuzzlewhacks

Buster Posey gorged on grubble snacks.

Clay Bucholz began to dance and cheer

As Tim Stauffer shotgunned floozle beer.

A raging party, oh yes it was.

(Big Papi got naked, just because)

And they shouted loud, for all to hear:

"Best friends will save the Griffs this year!"