9-11 as we stand, now, with one game to go.
It makes sense why we're more apprehensive this year compared to last.
Not most of us may remember exactly, maybe (what do i know of the statisticians) without computational research, how our year of last went, but that matters not.
Last year's rhythm is not what beats 365 rotations on.
It's a different everything (always for someone).
It's an altered face on the same body ( not a tale told new).
"WE WERE...", I say, when I know I wasn't even really but a speck on the production team-- a distant fade on the mosaic of the brand.
Sure, I want a Cup.
But if it protects my balls, not my brains, I might reconsider.
It's bonus and ego.
Striking when the stone looks more rich than false; impossible to be the same man when thinking of gold as opposed to (that of fools) when it's finally eyed tangible.
We won't be the same team next year as last (our now, soon to be someone else's yesterday), not even two years ago.
Will we "rise together", or just be as good as we can, while we can?
If the language of the universe is mathematics, then we stand no chance amongst the laws of average, now.
(issued by a non-professional at anything -- let me know if my expiry date has past, cuz I'm not sentient enough to know how sour I've become.)
#rant #hashtagsyndicate