Roses are red,
The scoreboard is blue,
If victory needs a hero,
It definitely isn’t you.
Trey stands six-foot-four,
A giant among the crowd,
Yet somehow every game he plays
Makes disappointment proud.
His K/D hovers low and weak,
One-point-two on a better day,
The enemies see his gamertag
And know they’ll be okay.
His shirts are wrinkled every day,
Like they lost a fight with sleep,
Looking like he dressed himself
From a laundry basket heap.
He’s wired a thing or two at work,
At least that’s what we’re told,
But if skill was measured like voltage,
His circuit might run cold.
In shooters he can’t hit a shot,
In racing he can’t steer,
If gaming had a Hall of Fame,
Trey wouldn’t get near.
He’s tall enough to dunk a ball,
To change a light with ease,
But somehow still gets carried hard
By teammates half his knees.
So here’s to Trey, our favorite guy,
Whose talents are hard to track,
Because whenever skill walks in the room,
Trey somehow walks right back.
Yet despite the jokes and all the fun,
One fact remains quite true:
Without Trey around to laugh about,
What would the rest of us do? 😆