The rain falls heavy on my heart like an eight-game losing streak
April showers that will bring no May flowers, but rather only
The pain of yet another appearance by Kevin Gregg.
Silent are the bats that awaken neither day nor night
Swinging and missing at pitches far out of the strike zone.
If Hell is a never-ending stream of double plays, there we are:
Pathetic hacks at terrible pitches that ground weakly to second base
As a slow runner lumbers down the line, never to reach first.
The memory of winning as far from us as Adam Jones to that curveball in the dirt.
Tragedy, thy name is Birdland, and so we are driven into the emo depths
Where we try to cut ourselves on Chris Tillman fastballs:
Eighty-eight mile per hour meatballs landing way out
In the deserted center field bleachers of our dreams.
Your starters are Carl Pavano for the Twins and Jake Arrieta for the Orioles.