In Boston, teams don’t win or lose.
They triumph or they choke.
     For it’s as if they’re either
Very rich or else they’re broke.
     The Bruins lose a series
After they have been ahead,
     And no one says they merely failed.
The word is that they’re dead.
     They’ve not just lost; they’ve made themselves
Embarrassing to all.
     It cannot be imagined now
That they could ever fall
     Much further than they’ve fallen,
On their way to hockey hell,
     And no one here would dare suggest
The other team played well.
    

     The Celtics beat the Cavaliers.
They bottled up LeBron.
     Unless, perhaps, you live in Cleveland,
Where they may go on
     ‘Bout how the Cavs, who won all year,
Stopped playing when the dough
     Was all out on the table,
When they slipped from fast to slow.
     But I digress, the Celtics,
If they beat Orlando, too,
     Will be the team that turned back time,
A wonder, through and through,
     A team with great tenacity,
Both talented and smart…
     A team of destiny and more…
Unless they fall apart,
     And show us they are quitters,
Bums, an inconsistent fake,
     Unworthy of our caring
And the trouble that we take
     To watch them from our couches,
In our homes or in the bars,
     Where otherwise we might be watching
Dancing With The Stars.
    

     I don’t know if they’ll win or not.
I’m no soothsayer, I…
     But this I can predict, my friend,
As time goes flowing by:
    If Boston wins, the Celtics
Will be heroes, demigods…
     And if they lose they will be
Lazy malcontents and clods.
     The coach will be a moron,
The GM a witless goof,
     For losing, in the minds of fans
In Boston is the proof
     Of hideous malfeasance
On a bleak and tragic day…
     It’s always this and never
That the other team could play.