The curtain has fallen
on the season with
the finality of a guillotine.
My soul is as empty as
a cleaned-out locker
because the two New York
teams have been
mathematically eliminated
from post-season play,
both in the past couple of days.
I muse over the nightmare
of this baseball year –
the injuries, poor play,
both offensively and defensively.
I dream of what could have been if
hitters had hit and fielders had fielded.
So, sleep my woebegone players
over the winter months,
but wake up in time for
the beginning of spring training
when hope is reborn and your sins
of the present season will all be
but forgotten in the glow of
the Arizona and Florida sun.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME