As we dance to the music of life,
We must remember that the steps matter not;
What matters is the energy, the attitude, the love —
Well, these things and on-base percentage.

In the year of the phoenix*
Many secrets will be revealed,
Many surprises will be uncovered,
Kabir says, and the Marlins will suck.

The American League will see a new champion
Rising to the top like bubbles in a glass:
Who it will be, I will not tell outright —
You can find clues hidden throughout this poem.

One Eastern bird will soar surprisingly high,
Another will skim the ground and crash.
Black and white will be okay, so will stockings of red,
While the wingèd fish will start strong and fade.

Move to the middle of the country
Then count out kings, dopplegangers, and the hose.
At the top will be the namesakes of my country
And the striped felines, prevailing here as in life.

Do not bother to continue west, Kabir says,
Unless you enjoy wagon wrecks and smallpox.**
Athletic-ally speaking, one must win,
But this is the new NL Central and ho-hum.

Speaking of that division, and we must,
It is no longer the weakest sister.
Watch for beer and bears to thrive,
Battling to the wire like sin and soul.

On the left coast of the country,
Three teams could win everything;
But they will not, because in the desert
Snake venom kills both friars and bluebloods.

You may believe those easterners who say
Bravery is on the rise, says Kabir —
But will it be enough to vault two teams
Whose names are not easily synonymized? No.

If you have read carefully, gentle reader,
You now know who the winner will be.
If you are still in the dark, be sure
That your head is in the ground and you are an onion or John Kruk.***
__________________
NOTES:

*Scholars are fairly certain that this corresponds to 2008.
**The original term actually translates to “anal pox,” a little-known malady that had devastated much of the subcontinent just four decades before this poem was written.
***This individual remains a mystery to scholars. A misprint, perhaps?

Kabir was a 15th century Indian mystic and seer, who nevertheless correctly predicted eight of the last 15 World Series winners in poetry form. A new collection of his salacious limericks, There Was an Old Man Called “The Rocket,” has just been released by Dalkey Archive in a new translation by Vijay Chaganta.