Spring training is not the proper time to boast
About how your ballclub is simply The Most.
Come Fall such ardor may equate to burnt toast,
Giving critics just cause to ridicule, roast.

Such was the case with our Nationals this year,
Expectations on high across a broad sphere.
Top line pitching, solid lineup, much to cheer,
Six months later saw the swagger disappear.

Where to begin? Ask any loyal fan:
“It was those injuries! Werth and Denard Span,
Rendon and Strasburg, franchise stalwart ‘Z-Man’—
I-R disrupted the daily lineup plan.”

Subpar performances became the status quo,
Both at bat, on defense, team statistics show.
Hitting in the clutch, not a threat to foe,
Errant misplays afield added to the woe.

As for that starting pitching which opened on a high,
Strong arms on paper, rivals could only sigh.
Somewhere that potential went surprisingly awry
Leaving fans despondent, in their beer to cry.

Haven’t mentioned the bullpen, late innings, Nats ahead,
A call for relief, a need combined with dread.
Further discussion better left unsaid,
Frequently the outcome went from “lead’ to “led”.

Finally the manager, their so-called dugout whip,
The leader who the players all addressed as “Skip”.
Inexperience prevailed, began to lose his grip,
Poor game decisions took him down with the ship.

The Nats failed to reach baseball’s Octoberfest,
Their positives subsided ‘bout July Fourth at best.
One Sixty-Two proved much too long a quest,
“Wait ‘til next year”—Brooklyn’s echoes can attest.