Let us gamethread, me and you,
When our team, roused by umpire's cue,
Scatters from the dugout like balls upon a billiard table;
Let us post, through six-game winning streaks,
Or sad and winless weeks,
Our subthreads of beer or Chiz or Charlie Sheen,
When pleasure comes from turning comments green:
Green that skips and tumbles down the patterned page,
And which, just like Pure Rage,
Leads us to an undeniable conclusion. . .
Must you ask, "What can it be?"
The answer's clear: it's LGT.
In this space, all here know
Nap and Spoke and Colavito.