I’m standing at the edge of the abyss,
one step away from the fathomless chasm
where all my World Series hopes go to die.
Yes, people tell me “You gotta believe,”
but I believe in Murphy’s Law, –
anything that can go wrong will go wrong,
not to mention the actual Murphy
who committed a Billy Buckner error
causing my Mets to come crashing down,
one game shy of elimination,
causing me to teeter on the brink of despair.
I’m afraid I will not be attending
any victory parades or parties,
will no longer wear my
home team paraphernalia,
will not run down the street yelling
“We are World Champions.”
Instead, I will hide in my house for the winter,
count the days remaining to spring training,
and curse the fickleness of the baseball gods.
If for some strange reason, my team rallies,
I will happily profess this poem moot,
and gladly proclaim, “I knew they had it all the way.”
THE POETRY OF THE GAME