In light of the recent news that we will no longer have our favorite general manager-slash-punching bag come Monday, I need to get my last licks in the criticism of Omar Minaya. So for the next few days I will be re-working various historical and popular pieces of literature and music in honor of his good works. Today I begin with a poem titled "Omarandius," loosely based on Shelley's Ozymandius, which I think accurately captures some of my feelings at the end of this era. I hope you enjoy it.
I met a once-impassioned Mets loving fan
Who said: The once proud, storied team I'd known
Once won at Shea. But in a box atop the stands
Half mocked, sits a misspending man, whose grission
And arrogance, and sneer that he likes his plan
Tell that the owner well, could have chose better instead
Though alive no statistical replace he could bring
For the pen that signed league leaders in dread.
And through the field-level silence fans could hear:
"My name is Omarandius, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Metsies, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains the lineup decay
Of those historic collapses, for lack of a prayer
The empty silent stands rise toward the gray