You lose a game,
And it hurts
Like a paper cut.
You don’t make the playoffs,
And it hurts
Like a broken nose.
You lose the last game of the World Series,
And it hurts
Like a Type III fracture.
You lose one hundred and twenty games,
And it still don’t hurt
Like having your heart ripped out.
Becuz’ in your world,
The hurt will heal
As you wait until next year.
Like a rainbow thief, the A’s owner
Has forever stolen the Green & Gold
And left only the Blues.
He’s stealing away,
Up Highway 80 to sAcrAmento,
Chasing a pot o’ gold to lAs vegAs.
The letter “A” has been ripped out of
The O*kl*nd *lph*bet.
And now he*rt sounds like hurt.
A broken old man sits crying
In the desolate Coliseum
With a cancer of the heart.
Becuz’ in his world,
The hurt will metastasize
On every Opening Day.