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Drew Butera

A hundred runs prevented
The catcher’s unknown stat

A thousand hours spent squatting
An uncoiled spring; an unpounced cat

His dues are paid
a career is made
Except when he’s at bat

Leave him alone
He knows his strengths
There’s a reason he gets paid

There are games to call
And runners to gun
Yes, he does get laid

Every team needs one;
That’s under the sun
Once a week he rules the plate

You better run fast
He’s his father’s son
If second base you seek

Tell yourself it’s just a game
When you show up late and lame

Who shall inherit the Earth?
Tis’ not you or me.
But Drew Butera, and the Meek.

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