Serving on the Mound

From sixty feet six inches the lord of lightning is serving on the mound  
His electric bolts crack the catcher's mit with a thunderous sound  
Striking out the enemy with an amazin' flash so bright  
That when he's preaching to the choir he enlightens the Dark Knight  
Before each hitter breaks his wrist, the ball's already past  
Not even mighty Casey could swing his bat that fast  
He can curve the ball around 'em or slide it underneath    
But when he hurls Mjolnir's song the frozen batter stands chattering his teeth
The hail storm of icy stones streak like comets vaporizing into dust
Whirring through the atmosphere comes his unseen windy gust
To create the perfect storm overpowering the enemy at the gate
He twirls his tiny white tornados across the corners of home plate
Although the Mighty Thor may not be King just yet  
I'm glad as Hela he stands on the mound as a New York Met  
So while we all know him as the strapping prince of Asgard  
His alter ego walks among us as Noah Syndergaard