Crunch Time Bungler

CRUNCH TIME BUNGLER

With a last-second shot on goal,
I launched a one-timer at the five hole.
The puck hit the ref square on the chin …
It wasn’t us who got the win.

My two-foot putt to take the match
Rolled off the green into a briar patch.
With the bases loaded I came to the plate:
Looked at strike three. We lost nine to eight.

A spare in the tenth would take the crown,
But the seven and ten pins wouldn’t go down.
Then I missed a forced checkmate in three …
Another win that eluded me.

I was playing bridge just for kicks,
I bid a slam and took three tricks.
Sinking one free-throw would make me a hero,
I had three shots and only made zero.

Whatever the game I’m a sure-thing choker,
I’d be bankrupt in seconds if I ever played poker.
Just once I’d like to come through in the clutch,
But I’m afraid that’s asking way too much.

Alas, the sweet smell of victory
Will forever be a mystery.
The best I can hope for before I die
Is to somehow, somehow, salvage a tie.