Several years ago in a rare moment of poetic brilliance, I composed the the following masterpiece. I offer it today not only for its intrinsic literary value and as my annual curse upon the evil empire, but on behalf of the long-suffering Texas Rangers and their fans, of whom I am one secondary to my loyalty to the Braves. May they reign merciless and violent defeat upon their wicked foes.

I Do Not Like the Yankees

I do not like the Yankees, Sam.
I do not like them, Thad I am.

I do not like them in the Bronx.
I do not like them o’er the Sox.
I do not like to see them win.
I do not like to see them grin.

If I should see them on the screen,
I’ll call them something none too clean.
If I should see them on the street,
I’ll spit and kick them in their seat.

I do not like the Yankees fans.
I do not like them in the stands.
I do not like them jumping ’round.
I’d rather see them gagged and bound.

If I should meet a Yankees fan,
I’d promptly kick him in his can.
If he should turn to kick me back.
I’d run like hell (I’m little, Jack.)

I do not like the Yankees, man.
I’m sick to death of that high priced clan.
They have a payroll six miles high,
And titles only cash can buy.

I will not give them any due,
I would not, could not give a poo.
I’ll root the Rangers on to win,
Damn Yankees must pay for their sin.

I do not like the Yankees, Sam.
I do not like them, Thad I am.