The angular pitcher struck out an improbable run of batters,
K after K after K.
They couldn’t connect with his blistering fastball,
And his breaking stuff was just nasty.
Batter after batter whiffed, trudged dejectedly back to the dugout.
Yet he still started the season 1-3.
Every time he stepped on the mound,
No matter how brilliant his performance,
His teammates’ bats never roused from their slumber.
As though there was some ancient gypsy curse,
They couldn’t muster the slightest bit of run support.