When those huge hits begin to mushroom
And the crowd, there is no hush room,
The fans dream of sweeping like a push broom
But neither is feeling like there is much room.
Yet, the craziest truth about baseball,
Is despite every umpire’s blown call
The best team shall surely stand tall,
And the others will most assuredly fall.
It’s the game’s wicked memorandum –
It’s a postseason victory for some,
And for one, a World Series outcome
But some truly great teams are glum.
For these teams, there is much maturation
And a future of pride, celebration –
For defeat extends that duration
Of dedication, hard work, exhalation.
Thank you, Braves, Pirates, and Rays –
You could soon be followed by the Tigers or A’s.
And 2013 could be a vision of malaise
If the Dodgers, Cards, and Sox get their ways.
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