Not this

[INTRO — 0:00–0:12] (tremolo guitar riff over low strings, one brass stab, then a breathy spoken whisper) double 0... seven.

[VERSE 1 — 0:12–0:38] (smoky, slow) He used to wear the title like a tuxedo, sharp and sleek, Lineups shaken, never stirred, a win every week, Two golden trophies gleaming, and the whole league bowed down low, Now the shine is off the armor, and there's nowhere left to go.

[PRE-CHORUS — 0:38–0:48] (strings climbing, timpani rolls) Seven weeks of opportunity, not a single win in sight, Every projection promised him a future that's never been right...