W.

My fingernails are all but gone,

I sweat in anticipation.

My nerves are shot, my game face on,

slightly irregular respiration. 

Just a game?  Don’t tell Otto

Orange blood, thicker than most.

2.5 seconds left—ahead by a basket

Triche at the line, I try not to burst:

A miss, but we can win it without—

My teeth find the last nail standing.

Cinci possession, clock runs out

A SHOT, my heart! Eyes follow the arch,

NOPE! Syracuse wins, crash landing.