an ode to playoffs: we are the underdogs

We were watching brightly the screen,
those men who rush and tackle and throw and fall,
and I was yelling for joy;

I was on my feet, explaining to my mother
"buttonhook" and "up-and-up"
and I was cheering for the tight ends,
and we were a point ahead,

but things didn't end up working out
the way I'd envisioned it.

So I went upstairs to write about it:
"Why is hope so useless recently?"
Because I like underdogs,
but despite my cheers, which always seem to mean so much,
we just end up getting beaten down again and again.