Today’s game ends right around the time my afternoon shift begins. As my workplace WiFi blocks the site, I’m sharing all three recap songs in case something unexpected happens in the final innings.

First up is the one written when the starting pitcher got knocked out of the game:

When the teamwide faith is falling
Comes a man inflating our woes:
It’s P. Ohl, dope pitcher,
Spreading “joy” whatever he throws.

Wednesday afternoon we find him
On the mound to face the wood.
It’s P. Ohl, “dope” pitcher,
Making Tigers feeling good.

He tees up spheres as samples,
The batters smack ‘em well;
Minnesotans’ desperate faces
Again in sorrow… nay, in hell.

It assures continued struggles,
An ascension of distress.
It’s P. Ohl, nope pitcher,
Leaving us in crappiness.

Next is the parody I wrote when the Twins were down 4-3 and I anticipated the offense doing nothing:

Summer’s here, a-suh-muh-summer’s here,
Cheering little and chugging beer.
I think the season we’ve suffered this year is a bum.
I do. Don’t you? Course you do.

But there’s one thing that augments the suffering,
An offense eternally buffering…

Oh, there’s one thing presumably spelling our doom:
These annoying non-hitters in the park.
Whether sunshine or rain, we suffer in pain
From annoying non-hitters in the park.

When swinging the lumber, production is minimal;
In frustrating moments, we cry out to bin ‘em all.
Like Casey of might, there’s no contact in sight
From annoying non-hitters in the park.
La-la, la-la-la-la-la-doo, dee-dee, doo-doo-doo…

The impossibility
Of offense virility
And perpetual futility
In our game,
Results in senility
And lack of civility
For such imbecility
Is still just as lame.
Yet it’s all on the brass’s decision
That led to this fall in division…

So if one day you’re free, why still watch on TV
These annoying non-hitters in the park?
It might yet behoove sone next season to move
From annoying non-hitters in the park.

From blunder to blunder, this offense is terrible,
Yet ownership sees fuller pockets as bearable…
A ballclub of agony’d make fans want to gag, a need
To hurl in the toilet;
The Pohlads will spoil it,
Annoying non-hitters in the park.

And last on the set list today is the one I wrote when the Twins’ unexpectedly started to clobber the ball.

I write pastiche alit while watching Keaschall hit,
Shunning troubles as he doubles down the line.
I laud the effers of Ryan Jeffers,
And Austin Martin gets us startin’ doing fine.

Too long, the offense has been a goner,
But watch young Roden’s bat explode! There’s burners from Matt Wa’ner!
Eddy Julien has spells he looks Herculean;
Kody Clemens? His bats are never lemons.
Today in August, we hope this is a sign:

Beneath the lighting of Comerica, the fans’ll go hysteric
When the team has hit its quote, striking gold like old Kasota,
Write pastiche alit watching Keaschall hit down the line!

I write pastiche alit while watching Keaschall hit,
Shunning troubles as he doubles down the line.
I laud the effers of Ryan Jeffers,
And Austin Martin gets us startin’ doing fine.

Too long, the offense has been a goner,
But watch young Roden’s bat explode! There’s burners from Matt Wa’ner!
Eddy Julien? Some spells he looks Herculean;
Kody Clemens? His bats are never lemons.
Today in August, we hope this is a sign:

Beneath the lighting of Comerica, the fans’ll go hysteric
When the team has hit its quote, striking gold like old Kasota,
Though the Pohlads are pathetic, the bleachers are frenetic,
Write pastiche alit watching Keaschall hit down the line!