Spoiler is the only trophy a losing team
can claim at season’s end. Once you’re beaten,
what else can earn you the wicked smile that shines
like a figurative shiv just before it’s shoved in,
or the confident thunk of a baseball-round
stone before Goliath reels?
None of the season’s errors or calamity will matter,
none of the head-shaking, confidence-trampling
bumbles will trouble you when leaves fall and winds
howl at your windows like boos, if you know
that your rival, too, is sitting out the post-season
at home, cursing you, game after televised game.