The game of life yields both the defeater and the defeated,
while some sip Dom P., most drink Beefeater.
Woe to the Pirates, the Clippers and Andy Roddick (hey, he’s a handsome guy!)
to the Royals, the Grizzlies, the Bengals and the Lions (oh my!)
Woe to the fans, the young and the old,
those who standby these professionals of fold,
These Washington Generals of professional sport,
manage to sink their ships before ever leaving the port,
Errors and faults, yellow flags and fouls,
little ones’ heads hung low, parents with scowls,
With mouths full of chips, dips and miller lite,
we perform our superstitions of manic delight,
So why do we torture ourselves in support,
for the sake of these millionaire bums of the field and court?
Could it be the players or the City they curse?
or perhaps its inherited from the moment of birth?
Does the absence of winning make the fan grow fonder?
Woe to us who the band wagon left behind, with just our hopes to ponder.
To reach the top may be long and lonely, but to stay at bottom takes an artisan of blunder!
No comments:
Post a Comment