Mets Merized

I still feel that ticker tape,
a deep eight-six is still gone.
I write to my blue & orange bed room,
my distaste and Mr. Wilpon.
My lips are bleeding,
from all these pinstripe salutes.
I bit my tongue so hard,
drops fell on my timberland boots.
I look for comfort in my MSG KNICKS,
but next game = 1 - 6.
For Mets fans October 
has become a sharade.
As I watch "THEM"
dance in another parade.
I dont hate  the player,
but I am sick of this game.
69 miricle,Buckner and Endy,
are only claims to fame.
I remember 1986,
I just started High school.
I saw a Dynasty in the making,
but heartbreaks be came a rule.


99' 00' 06
shot down in blazes 
without glory.
I thought winning was Manuel,
when we had X-stripes Randolph and Torre.
I saw a BIG INNING,
Rings I predicted "LOTS A"
when we had Hampton and Mike Piazza
I put Bacardi in my Lemonaide,
 but was stuck sucking Lemons.
When Piazza didnt charge,
that yank-sock Clemens.
Hope was left ..I felt a tingle,
But a Brave face was only Robin
a grand slam single .
The series of the Subway,
was to some an excitement.
But our inferior team,
became our indictment.
 
I want a Wright celebration,
and tell lady luck we bought her.
I wanna see A-rods next and last ring,
with Goldie Hawns daughter.
I want broadway engulfed
in orange and blue.
I want to kiss a girl 
at Citifield I never knew.
I wanna remember 
the 'DEEP EIGHT SIX"
The day I saw ...
I wanna Believe...
like TUG McGraw