THE TOASTMASTER

His throat was as dry as an old cigar

as he walked into the noisy sports bar.

“What’ll ya have?” the barmaid roared

above the TV as the home team scored.

“I’d really enjoy an ice cold beer

and make it a large one please, my dear.”

A burly type sauntered up, grinning.

“Stranger you’ve arrived at a crucial inning.

We boys are drinking to our favorite team.

This year’s pennant is our fondest dream.

Please tell me pal,” he said with a sneer.

“What’ll you drink to with that big glass of beer?”

“What will I drink to? Why my usual, I guess.

Each day at this time I drink to excess.”

As he hit the floor, he expressed his regrets.

“I see by your cap , sir, I should have said ‘Mets’.”

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