Each fall I'm like a little boy,
a baseball fan who dreams
that somehow my beloved team will win.
And though my heart's been ripped apart
and grieved what's slipped away,
I find a way to fuel my hope again.
I listen to sports radio
and watch games on TV
while studying the standings every day.
I live with every single win
and die with every loss.
No wonder my thin hair is turning gray.
I think back to those nights in bed
I cried myself to sleep
with my transistor pressed against my ear.
That's when I learned that baseball's more
than ending in first place.
It's learning to be patient till next year.
And yet I love the start of fall
with playoffs in the air.
The chance my team might make it spurs me on.
The slightest hope ignites my faith
that one day they'll have cause
to play more games when other teams are done.