The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Martingales that day,
No evidence presented with but one forum left to play.
When Jerry Logan died at first, and Belly did the same
A sickly silence fell; AP's were all to blame.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair; the rest
Clung to the luck which springs eternal in the Martingale breast.
They thought, if only Singer could send his tax returns,
That's all the proof they'd need to watch the AP's burn.

But logic preceded Singer, as did also a little thing called math.
The former irrefutable; the latter, well, it's math.
So upon the stricken Martingales grim melancholy sat.
There seemed no way Singer could overcome all that.

But Alan liked the concept, of quitting when ahead,
And math, the much despised, was put aside for dead.
When the forum dust had settled, and they saw what had occurred,
The rep of Martingales lay with tax returns interred.

From five thousand keyboards and more there rose a lusty yell.
It rumbled through Best Buys; it sent WOV to hell.
It sped across the globe and recoiled in every flat,
For Singer, mighty Singer, would get a whack at that.