What could be

It's the middle of September, and the Reds have played for a whole month like they did during that fateful series in Cincinnati when they were swept by the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles. Bronson Arroyo sits in the airport awaiting the team trip to Chicago to take on the equally as woeful Cubs, whom they will play seven of their final fifteen games. His eyes are misty as he thinks about what might have been, and the rockstar pitcher does what rockstars do when they get emotional - he pulls out his guitar and begins to sing.

I'm sitting in the aerostation,
Got a ticket for my destination.
On a tour of three game stands
My suitcase and guitar in hand,
And ev'ry stop is neatly planned
For a pitcher and a one-man band.

Playoff bound,
I wish I was,
Playoff bound,
October - not with our reshaping,
October - where I should be playing,
October - where a trophy's waiting
But it's not for me.

Ev'ry day's an endless stream
Of zeroes where our runs should be.
And each town looks the same to me,
The Dodgers and team Barry
And ev'ry batter's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be,

Playoff bound,
I wish I was,
Playoff bound,
October - not with our reshaping,
October - where I should be playing,
October - where a trophy's waiting
But it's not for me.

Tonight I'll pitch my balls again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But losses come back to me
In shades of mediocrity
Like emptiness in harmony
I need someone to comfort me.

Playoff bound,
I wish I was,
Playoff bound,
October - not with our reshaping,
October - where I should be playing,
October - where a trophy's waiting
But it's not for me.
But it's not for me.

With apologies to Paul Simon.