If I ran the team, we'd be something to see. We would win every game, what a team we would be …
I would sign all the stars, all the Mickeys and Willies.
No one would scorn me to go pitch for the Phillies.
And as for my sluggers, I'd get whom I please,
Maybe Albert Pujols, maybe David Ortiz.
(Via surgery, hey, they could hit Siamese!)
I'd gather key players to capture the pennant,
I'd trade bums to Frisco, obtain Tony Bennett.
My hitters would know that in every at-bat,
The umps were mine, too. (Let's just leave it at that.)
We'd run on each pitch; we'd score runs in vast thickets,
Lindsay Lohan, on YouTube, would shoplift our tickets.
If I ran the team, we would need no excuses,
No critics would claim that our third baseman juices.
The rules for my troops would eliminate drama:
They'd eat only meals cooked by Michelle Obama.
To make sure they're clean, nothing stronger than coffee,
I would hire that sexy ex-nurse for Qaddafi.
The Yankees? Of them, I would never be wary.
We would beat them as if they were Scranton/Wilkes-Barre.