You can argue that David Wright hasn’t done anything remotely close to superstardom in the past three years on the baseball diamond. But he’s still the superstar of my heart and my loins. He’s still the apple of my eye, the love of my life. He’s the captain of my team and the captain of my heart. I would marry David Wright today if he wanted me to. I’ll never forget when he first came up and was signing autographs for everyone at Shea during batting practice. He is the epitome of a classy gentlemen, a New York Met for life. He’s more loyal than a golden retriever. More handsome than Leo. Stronger than Zeus.
And that is why his birthday’s are numbered as a New York Met. Young David isn’t so young anymore. He’s 32. His beautiful body is turning on him. He needs to put together two more solid seasons to give the Mets a shot.
That being said, I wrote you a poem, David, a haiku actually:
Oh D Wright, you are
my light, my world, my universe
Love me forever
Sidenote– I need help. Happy Birthday David