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
