In which I try to compensate for the lack of rhymes for “Conrad”

Oh, what is to be done with Brooks
If you can’t blame umpiring crooks,
Nor looming Giants, hated mooks,
Nor your peers, inadvertent schmucks?
Pilfer question marks from scorebooks
Recording dodgy moves by rooks?
Pelt him with food from angry cooks?
Hope he retreats to distant nooks?
Or just give him frustrated looks
And celebrate Cox’ final hooks?

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