Fan one.
Know-it-all critique,
…But an idiot
Talks about this and that
This guy stinks,
That guy stinks,
The other guy should be playing
So… annoying…
He doesn’t know anything
About baseball.
I laugh,
Quietly to myself,
When he boasts,
“I should be the manager!”

Fan two.
Drunk-out-of-his-mind loser,
Spending eight bucks a pop
On his beer,
Of which he’s had six.
And bought plenty more
For his buddies,
Trying to impress them.
They’re just using him
For his money.
The beer man comes around again.
And like the little kid,
Who believes in Santa,
Fan two idiotically roars,
“Bud light here,
Don’t wanna get too drunk.”

Fan three.
Out-of-town-never-seen-a-game-
in-his-life moron,
Constantly asks

Every…

Single…

Annoying…

Question…

He turns around and inquires,
“Hey, what does that AC 1006400 mean?”

We are all them,
…Although each of us will deny it.
No one wants to admit
To being the
“Critique”
Or “Loser”
Or “moron”
So we all go along,
Telling ourselves that
We’re the perfect fan…
But honestly,
Who is?