The trade deadline has come and gone. All out of waiver money (and all out of goon). It’s purely luck from here on out. Rosters have survived the summer heat, the sudden change in weather as we go from the warmth of the sun to the cold dreary days of autumn, but the cold of winter is fast approaching. All trash talk is purely a mask to hide insecurities that we all have because everything, I mean everything, is out of our control. In our moments of weakness however exists bliss. The blissful feeling that we no longer have to do anything. The weight of scouring rosters and waivers have been lifted. The veil has been removed. And now, now we just sit and watch as the rest of our lives unfold.
The chickens have come home to roost, the hay is in the barn, the seeds have been sown, and it’s time to see if this seasons crop will be bountiful. Hurry up and wait, bear witness to utter destruction, or the fruits of thy labor. It’s out of your hands now. Rosters are cemented. Injuries have tested everyone, but will they be endured? The cosmos have spoken and as the stars explode, so do our perceptions of fate. A fate that we once had control over, but now we very clearly do not.
The band is playing one last tune as the ship sinks. To those who seek solace, this is no place for the weary. Your mistakes will be cast into the light and magnified by the unadulterated abuse that those around you may cause. We’ve survived collusion, lawsuits, defenses on bye weeks, extortionate efforts, the bands have friendship have been tested. Glory waits in the wings of finality. The home stretch. It’ll all be over soon and we’ll be whispering to ourselves “I can’t wait for next year”. That very moment is near.
