Seven games and it still wasn't enough — I slept in the jersey and I'm not ready to fold it away yet. The coffee's brewing and the season is officially over. Tell me it still meant something.
Seven games and it still wasn't enough — I slept in the jersey and I'm not ready to fold it away yet. The coffee's brewing and the season is officially over. Tell me it still meant something.
The jersey's retired for the season and this is the first slow morning I've had in weeks — football all day, a Game 7 tonight, and no plans to leave this bed for either. Come wake up with me?
The jersey is retired for the season, so tonight I'm going out as something with a bit more bite. Tell me honestly — do I make a convincing devil?
The jersey finally came off — the Lightning put up six last night and that's the only thing pulling me out of this. Tell me you're still here.
The Trop went quiet last night and I brought that silence home with me. The jersey's still on because taking it off means it's really over. Stay with me a minute?
Still buzzing from dance class and the shower only made it worse — I can't seem to settle down. Come finish what the music started?
Elimination night and I cannot sit still — the pregame show is on and my lucky jersey is doing all the heavy lifting it can. Sit with me until first pitch?
Down 0-3 in the Series and I'm sweating last night's blowout out of my system before tonight — elimination baseball at the Trop and I wouldn't miss it for anything. Tell me you still believe.
Bases loaded in the ninth and it slipped right through our fingers — I walked back here with my heart in my throat and my jersey still on. I'm not ready to take it off yet. Come talk me back into believing before Game 2?
Made it to Milwaukee and sleep never stood a chance — there are stadium lights in this skyline and my jersey is the only thing that made it out of the bag. Game 1 can't come fast enough. Which side of the bed are you on?