“We’re built to win it all this year,”
King Midas with much zest declared.
“That is a fact; just have no fear.
We’ve got two Cy Young Winners paired,
A home run champ who’s playing first,
A batting king on second base,
An all-star short stop and a burst
Of energy at third to win the race.
Against all hot shots down the line,
Our outfielders will field them all —
Players nine who will combine
To be successful in the fall!
There is no chance the other teams
Who stand against us in our league
Will conquer us, and so it seems
Those rivals will fall to fatigue
While we will win and by November
When the Series will be won,
The only team all will remember
Will be our team, the only one
Left standing when the banner’s raised.”
Thus rich King Midas so predicted,
Heaping on his team such praise . . .
But injuries on those depicted
(Not to mention pitching woes
Caused by aging superstars)
Brought many losses. So it goes —
Spring optimism never bars
Visions of a championship
But then reality shows us its face
And then the expectations flip
And with our failures goes first place.
Then our great season’s put to bed
And Midas’ gold has turned to lead
THE POETRY OF THE GAME