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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose one with my bats in a rut
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ If my starter throws cutters that don't seem to cut
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose two if my manager's crazy
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ If my outfield is slow or my infeld is lazy

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose three with my third base coach drinking
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ If my catcher is hurt and my depth chart is shrinking
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose four if my bullpen is wild
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ If my shortstop's not here 'cuz his wife had a child

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ If we touch down with jet lag, you bet I'll lose five
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Everyone's sluggish and just won't revive
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose six just relying on rookies‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ With my lefty reliever behind with his bookies

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Loss seven could come in a thick Denver blizzard
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Or in Phoenix, my set-up guy's bit by a lizard
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I'll lose eight when angst, langor, or Weltschmerz sets in
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When ennui robs us of all will to win

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I can lose nine from the things I don't know
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Screwed by a trade we made two years ago
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ But ten in row?  Fuck it, something is up
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Someone said "Sabotage?" and another said "Yup!"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ELEVEN full games without any wins?
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Somewhere a voodoo doll's bursting with pins
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When a streak hits 11, things get suspicious
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Like my claims that I'm trying are deeply fictitious

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Like I want to be fired to collect on insurance
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Like I get a sick thrill as I try fans' endurance
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Eleven-game streaks are hard to explain
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ But a joy, if like me, you have learned to love pain

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