In honor of Dr. Seuss’ birthday, here is my adapted Mets Dr. Seuss story to read with your little Mets fan.

 
 
“One Strike, Two Strikes, Three Strikes, You’re Out”

One Strike. Two Strikes. Three Strikes. You’re out. 

Yes. Some are curves. And some are fast. Some are slow. Some are from Matz. 

Some are from Jake. With strikes batters take. Even if these are batters that rake. Why do batters who rake take pitches from Jake?  I do not know. Maybe the pitch did break. 

Some pitchers are thin. Colon is fat. The fat one can pounce off the mound with the agility of a cat. 

From here to there, from here to there, strikeouts are everywhere. 

Some strikes bring heat. The heat is neat and sends batters to their seat. 

Oh me!  Oh my!  Oh me!  Oh my!  What a lot of strikes go by. 

Some are two seamers. Some are four. Some are just mean and batters want no more. 

How do they do it?  I cannot say.  But I bet the pitchers trained very hard along the way. 

We see the pitches come. We see the pitches go. Some are fast. And some are slow. Some are high. And some are low. Not one of them is like another. Don’t ask us why. Go ask your mother. 

Say!  Look at the strikeouts?  One, two, three . . . .  How many strikeouts do I see?  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. The pitcher has eleven. Eleven!  That’s nothing new. The next pitcher will do it too!

Swing!  Swing!  Swing!  You ever see such a thing?  Not one swing hit anything. But we know the pitchers have the ball on the string. The string makes the ball do anything. So . . . if you like to Swing! Swing! at anything just swing at the ball on a string and the strikeouts will sting. 

Who am I?  My name is Thor. When I strike someone out. I want more. It is so good. It is so right. The batters strike out all day and night. And when I strike them out, Oh Dear!  The batters have had it up to here!

We like the strikes. We like them in threes. Each strike sets up a hitter, you see. We like the strikes and this is why: the strikes makes outs and batters go bye-bye. 

Hello there, Zack. How do you do? Tell me, tell how do you plan your attack?  How did you do that?  Was the pitch new?  Please tell me Zack. I do not like this batter at all. A lot of strikes the umpire did call. A National, a Phillie, a Marlin, a Brave. Oh!  He’s out!  The strikeout was my fave!

Oh dear!  Oh dear!  The batter is in fear. How does the pitcher throw that sphere?  Why did the crowd just cheer?  It seems another strike out is near. Say look!  The ball did reappear. But he is out. So you can cheer. Again, cheer for the strikeouts my dear. 

The batter is old. The batter is cold. The pitcher has a pitch that is bold. The pitch is off. The batter will fold. The pitch is off. The batter did fold. The pitcher’s pitch was bold. The batter is cold. The batter is old. And now the story of the at bat has been told. 

The batter took a look. His confidence is shook. On the pitch, he did look.  On the pitch, he did look. It was a hook, and the confidence was shook. We saw him sit and give a look. He took a look at the hook and he shook. The hook did the deed for the pitch the batter just took. SO . . .  what good is a look at the hook he just took?

The batters were out, and they’ll lose some sleep. But not even counting sheep will help them sleep. By the light of the moon, by light of the star, they struck out all night on pitches near and far. They would never walk. Sitting in the dugout they are. 

I do not like this ump so well. All he does is yell, yell, yell. This game is turning into a route. When the Mets strike all the batters out. The batters are quiet as a mouse. All they can do now is rouse. 

At our house, we have stands. Those stands are full of fans. With two strikes, the fans give the pitcher a hand.  Hands from fans is very good. Have you heard a hand from fans?  You should. 

I like to play. How I like to play!  So, if I may, I play everyday. In May, I play everyday. I play everyday in May. 

It is fun to win if you win with a grin. I grin and win with pitchers who do everything.  I grin wide, and the batters heads hang low, their swings were so bad, and too slow. 

This batter I think will blink.  His strikeout will be written in ink. He really does stink. He hates to stink, and stink, and stink. The stink makes his face turn pink. The pink from the stink is after a pitcher’s wink. The batter hates the stink, the pink, and the wink. SO . . . if you really stink, the pitcher will give you a wink, after the strikeout is written in ink. 

Hop!  Hop!  Hop!  The batter went plop. Familia likes to hop from batter flop to batter flop. Familia hops from the mound and then . . . Hop!  Hop!  The ball goes from the catcher to third and around. Familia likes to hop all day and night from mound to ground and ground to mound. Why does he hop, hop, hop?  The rally did stop. 

Shush!  Shush!  Shush!  Shush!  Groan!  Groan!  Groan!  Groan!  Pitchers have fans making hitters shush and groan. All batters who shush and groan will have better luck when they return home. 

Who is this Met?  Say!  He doesn’t break a sweat. You may never yet met a Met, I bet, who will let a batter make him sweat. 

Did you ever make a batter see red?  Did you ever strike a batter out and send them to bed?  Did you ever have a batter shaking his head wondering how?  Well, Mets pitchers can do it. They know how. If you ever did, you should. These things are fun and fun is good. 

Hello!  Hello!  Are you there?  Hello?  You’re up to bat, hello! I said hello. Can you hear me Joe?  Oh no. I can not hear you at all. I did not hear your call at all. I was not paying attention; want to know why. I’m not willing to face a Mets pitcher. Good-bye!

From near to far, from here to there, the Mets are striking batters out everywhere. These young Mets are called aces. They strike out the batters each one faces. Their pitches are fast . . . so fast, they say, they strikeout batters everyday. 

Who am I? I’m the Dark Knight. I throw the ball with great might. My slider has bite and the spin is real tight.  When I pitch to strikeout a batter without much fight, I pitch the ball at the right height. Then I say, “You have no fight against a slider that will bite!”  And I give batters great fright as they strike out all night. So . . . if your plight is my might all night, you might swing with fright at the pitches from the Dark Knight. 

Our house is a place called Citi. During each game all we feel for batters is pity. Would opponents like to play against our pitchers in a game?  Come down!  There’s only one great pitching staff in town. 

Look at we did in the park in the dark. We only win at home. A visitor’s chances of winning are stark. We will win at our house. The win totals will grow and grow. All of baseball will take notice. Our pitching prowess will you will soon know. 

And now good night. It is time to sleep. Our pitchers will soon put you to sleep as the hole you’re in is too deep. Today is gone. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one. Every day, from here to there, Mets pitchers are striking out batters everywhere.