When things go wrong as they sometimes do,
And your average drops to a buck-eighty-two,
When you want to swing, but instead you slump,
And you’re the one yelling kill the ump
And you’re up five times but you still don’t hit,
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.
A streak is a slump without the outs,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And despite your readiness to fail,
Comes a seeing-eye grounder or a dying quail,
Just know that you will get that hit
It’s when you’re o-for you mustn’t quit.