Count Raff-u-la.
Taking a nod from Kevin Goldstein's Organizational Ranking Haikus, and remembering that haikus are always fun, I set out to find the essence of our roster in poetry.
We traded Jhonny
In order to protect you.
Avoid fatties, please.
Pale, tall, knuckle curve
A ghost from Mississippi
Who will you haunt, Drew?
Raffy Perez
String bean as vampire
Count Raff-u-la drinks your blood
Fans and foes, either
Wait, who are you—Joe?
No, seriously, you're who?
Your name is Joe, right?
How did you get here?
Someone said you hit doubles;
OK, try that then.
Can't remember when
I last saw pure rage like that
Fastball-slider set.
Leaving Harry's Bar:
bad choice. But forgiveness is
A game-winning hit.
Big stuff, all around
This other Carlos is good
Stars with shared first names
EZ Zeke on base
Wow, four syllable first name
You can be Coco
Up for whatever.
Weren't you a top prospect, once?
Does that still matter?
Bearded atop mound
Outcomes the pitch—what is it?
Doesn't matter much
Outsiders know you
Increasing pressure to fail
Don't Marte on me
Giant Jamaican
So fast, dirty, nasty, sink
Hitting the backstop
Barrel chest, thick arms
Blacksmith on the hot corner
Stay hot and hammer
Those ladies you tweet,
I do not know them per se
But I would warn you.
Bright smile, big man
Your stick makes me dream of Belle
Don't slide headfirst, dude.
Don't use that fungo
Wait, that's your real bat, Marson?
Oh no—Oh no, no
So much Frankenstein
Did you meet Count Raff-u-la?
You two should hang out.
Frank Hermann
Big fastball and brain
Which one is worth more these days?
Can't tell, no offspeed
There's a new you, now.
Southern, taller, more pitches;
That two-seamer better rule.
Look like a player
Smooth strides, uniform looks right
So why don't you hit?
I've known you so long:
Closer of future, '06.
Now, high-five Perez.
Short, tossing Texan
You are so dull, Josh Tomlin
Make hitters doze off
Wrists are for hitting
Wrists are not for surgery
Hope wrists are attached
Man that was quick, huh?
Window closed quickly for you
Say hi to Jordan
Geez, you're likable
Hope you can pitch as well as
you can write a tweet
You have a new 'do.
If you hit enough-NL!
Keep your wheels, you'll last
Walk proud, Jordan Brown
You played in the majors
More than most, for sure
Front of the first five
You are what did not happen
Killing earthworms, still
Hurt hip, they told us.
Crown Prince of a barren farm?
Can you till our fields?
We'll need your I-9
Also, a copy of your passport
You'll start on beer sales
No longer a solider
In the future near or far
Baseball pays sometimes
Low budget horror:
The Shoulder That Ate Cleveland
Will the lights come on?
Full speed workouts, soon
Run like the wind, former star
Run back to the past


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