Bud Selig's Fault

Here's a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. Was clearing out some hard drive folders and found some old writing. This is actually pretty good, I think. I added a verse. Guess which one.

Bud Selig's Fault
(c) 2005 by Michael Sheehan

When my kids ask me why
Only big-market teams
Ever reach the postseason
And win by default?
I'll patiently sigh
With a tear in my eye
And explain, "It is Bud Selig's fault."

When games run past midnight
In World Series play
And a tied All-Star game
Is brought to a halt
While the cashboxes jingle
With billions to spare
I know that it's Bud Selig's fault.

With liver spots glowing,
Like a nuclear toad
He sits on his throne,
The despotic old dolt
And bleeds our old pastime
Of much of its joy.
Oh yes, it is Bud Selig's fault.

And now they've computers
Outguessing the umps
Can we take too much more
Before open revolt?
If we vote with our purses
And just stay away
It's no one but Bud Selig's fault.

The needles, the steroids
Earn slaps on the wrist
Don't tell me this all
Can't be brought to a halt
They've done it in football,
But baseball? No way!
I swear, it is Bud Selig's fault.

I'd rather have Costas,
Giuliani, or Faye
Or some kind of committee
That rules by gestalt
'Cause the state of the game
Is a damned crying shame
And folks, it's all Bud Selig's fault.