Balls and Strikes

Balls and strikes, in day or night,
it really doesn’t matter.
For my pitch will haul, over fence and wall,
by every single batter.

Now I’ve tried my curve that hooks and swerves,
a real beauty of with grace and flare.
But I’ll be darned, as the batter does yawn,
and sends into the air.

Ok guys, how about this, my slider with a bite,
But another batter stares it down,
and sails it into the night.

Well, my fastball is pretty good, at least paint the edge.
So I send it homeward, then duck like crazy,
cause it came back and nearly took of my head.

“Oh great”, I say, as I see life in the pen,.
like this has never happen before.
Well, maybe twice, or was it five,
oh yeah, now I remember - it’s about twenty four!

So I give it one more shot, an off-speed down and in,
and the batter swings and nothing happens, just a bat in the wind.
“Strike one!” is the call, and I’m still alive - well, let’s take another shot!
So I stay with my creeper, this time down and out,
“Strike two!” is the call, as I hear the umpire shout!

I get the ball, rub it a while, as I walk around the bump,
but I’m taking too long, as I get a motion, to hurry it up, by the ump.
I shake off sign after sign, wanting to stay with the same,
but my catcher knows best, that stuff is just small change.

I get the heater, and nod “ok”, so here it comes Jerome,
so with every bit of what I got left, I send it downward - home.

Years and years have passed me by, but I still remember that game.
While sipping my buttermilk, rocking my glider, I can repeat all their names.
Oh, about that last pitch, that game of years later.
Well, it turned out this way …
Balls and strikes, in day or night,
it really doesn’t matter.
For my pitch will haul, over fence and wall,
by every single batter.

Coach B.