clock menu more-arrow no yes mobile

Filed under:

Ode to a Summer of Disappointment

Baseball isn’t nice

Photo by Stephen Lam/Getty Images

This year has been long, this year has been grueling

And we’ve all been given one hell of a schooling

It started with hope, we got many a win

Now we feel like dopes, and the team’s in the bin

We really ought to have learned, so many would think

That our luck would soon turn, and we’d be in the sink

That the hot Mitch of April, and the Marco of May

And the No-Hitter Big Maple, were not here to stay

We started out strong, we let ourselves dream

It lasted so long, we believed in the team

First we kept our guard up, kept our doubt at the ready

But they just kept winning and kept themselves steady

Despite all of ourselves, and our instinctive misgivings

We put our doubts on the shelves, and had more fun just living

We bought into the fun, and the run, and the sun

Thought it would never be done, it was second to none

Oh, we should have known, that it would not last

That our fate had been sewn, and the die had been cast

As June passed us by, and July came upon us

The A’s began to fly, and won to our disgust

Everything that was right, began to go wrong

The good became blight, the chords a sad song

With each game in the eighth, each rally was stemmed

Some tried to keep faith, some cried Same old M’s!

As the odds began to wane, and the sun began to set

We all passed around blame, of expectations not met

It was Seager’s fault! Or Scott’s! Or Dipoto’s!

Blame it all on Segura! He’s too eager for photos!

These are all bad takes, you can stop it right there

It’s not all the fault of our GM with great hair

The process was sound, and they’ve won seventy games

The team has been downed, there’s no need for the blame

Last year they’d have won, we wouldn’t be fools

But that’s how it goes, baseball is cruel

Maybe there really is hope for the month of September

But I just can’t believe, so I’ll choose to remember

Remember when Denard laced that clutch double?

When Edwin saved fifty, and Scott was in trouble?

Remember the high fives, the grinning, and spinning

How easy it all seems to come when they’re winning

When Mitch hit the dinger, got Safeco up screaming?

He felled the Angels, and Scioscia was steaming?

There are always good times, you need only to seek

Look between the lines, when things look most bleak

We’ve learned how to do this, and we’ll do it once more

Though each losing season, we’ll always want more

Please, let this be the last, it’s sure getting old

It’s getting old fast, and my heart’s getting cold

I’m at the end of my rope, I’m beginning to think

It’s quite hard to cope, and I’m starting to sink

I’ll soon go to bed, and I may need a drink

Playoffs in my head, please don’t let me blink