I don't usually post this early, but this came quickly to me so I figured I may as well. Why sit on it? I'm not going to improve it. Yes, I realize this is the 3rd time I've done Frost this year; no, I don't care. This was what came to me shortly after game's end, so this is what I'm posting. I rewrote the last several lines a few times before realizing I was never going to capture everyone's feelings and reactions; most of these are mine, although I tried to factor in some things for the more optimistic people around here.
Robert Frost's "Out, Out" is one of those visceral, descriptive poems that has stuck with me; what made me think of this poem in connection with this game is the focus on a literal slip of a hand. The pain, the stunned lack of initial comprehension, and the inevitable doom at the end were too similar for me to pass up, so here we are. I may do something later in the week; I may not. At this point, who knows? But this is how I felt then; this hurts now, so I'll post it now. With apologies to Robert Frost:
The Barners snarled and rattled in the stands
as Dawgs scored on three field-length gutsy drives,
sweet-scented fear on the breeze from the Tigers.
And from stands and field, lifted eyes could count
one minute and forty-nine seconds until
Aaron Murray's miracle sealed Dawgs' win.
Barner fans snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled
as their guys ran plays that failed ‘gainst Dawgs' D,
and nothing happened: Game was all but done.
Call it a game, I wish the refs had said,
to keep the Dawgs from living through the trauma
of a thief's final theft from his old team.
The defense ran the scheme that Grantham gave them,
hunkered on "Fourth Down." At the words, the ball,
as if to prove balls knew what "fourth down" meant,
leaped out of the Dawgs' hands, or seemed to leap--
they must have stretched out their hands. However it was,
nothing refused the meeting. But their hands!
The Dawgs' first outcry was a strangled gasp
as they stared in disbelief at their hands,
half in denial, but half as if to keep
the game from ending. Then our guys saw all--
since they were old enough to know, big boys
playing a man's game, though still so young--
they saw all was spoiled. "Don't let them end the ballgame--
officials, when time comes. Don't let them, offense!"
So. But the game was done already.
The offense drove the Dawgs into position
to score in spite of ever-ticking clock.
Bulldog watchers of the clock grew resigned.
Some Dawgs believed. They lauded team for heart.
Little--less--nothing!--and that ended it.
No more time to score-again. And Dawgs, since they
were used to heartbreak, turned to other games.
This should've been your crowning moment; you deserved better.