How the Mighty have Fallen
Almost as though penned by the hand of Aeschylus, Perros Del Diablo fell from grace Wednesday. Our hamartia was hubris, and it was our hubris that laid us low. After soundly defeating our first opponents of the night with definite authority, we allowed ourselves to rest on our laurels the second match, thereby losing the Championship.
No Deus ex Machina came to our rescue, our only solace was our sole supporter to whom we awarded our trophy for winning the first 5 weeks of the Premier League.
posted by Jamie & John | 5:33 AM
1 Comments:
There's no security in riches
for the insolent man who kicks aside
and pushes from his sight
great altars of righteousness.
Such a man is overpowered
by perverse Persuasion,
insufferable child of scheming Folly.
And there's no remedy.
His evil's not concealed-
it stands out, a lurid glitter,
like false bronze when rubbed.
All men can judge his darkness,
once he's tested by events.
He's like a child chasing a flying bird.
He brands his city with disgrace
which cannot be removed,
for no god hears his prayers.
The man who lives this way,
doing wrong, the gods destroy.
In time, black agents of revenge,
the Furies, wear down and bring to nothing
the fortunes of a man who prospers
in unjust ways. They wear him out,
reverse his luck, and bring him at last
among the dead. There's no remedy.
To boast too much of one's success
is dangerous-the high mountain peak
is struck by Zeus' lightning bolt.
I'd choose wealth no one could envy.
May I never be the sort of man
who puts whole cities to the sword.
Let me never see myself enslaved,
my life in someone else's power.
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