Brothers adoption threw together
Were young, their scattered backgrounds ensured
That, as far as sports went, they would root
For teams based in different cities.
These rooting interests slowly hardened
Into the boys’ proxy rivalries,
Crowing over victories, boasting
Of more to come, excusing defeats,
All nothing to do with them, in sports
They never had opportunity
To play, even against each other.
One brother in particular took
Such personal pride in victories,
Such personal umbrage at defeats,
He would get into shouting matches,
Becoming wildly irrational,
Insisting all the accomplishments
Of teams he supported were pure skill,
But those of the teams his brothers cheered
Came from nothing but undeserved luck.
As his brothers loudly argued back,
His position would shrink to two words
He would scream over their shouts—Skill! Luck!
These days, half a century later,
One of the brothers still hears that yell
In the rhetoric of opinions
About growing inequalities
And the merits of the successful,
The disasters of the dispossessed,
All skill, defending the successful,
Just luck, defending those dispossessed,
And then reversed, of course, on offense.
But what of the disabled brothers,
How did the long game play out for them?
No wealth yet, nor death. Cancers, strokes, debts.
