By The Way

By the way, did I tell you why I hate this game,
while here I sit, and to my shame.
I’m never called, game after game
not a look nor glance, no one knows my name.

Others will get the call today,
like they always do, but here I stay.
By the way, did I tell you why I hate this game,
to watch from afar, just miles away.

My uniform is sterile white,
as is place with no end in sight.
So clean and neat, not a speck to be found,
not clay, not dirt, not sweat on my brow.

By the way, did I tell you why I hate this game,
that finds me here, just the same.
A fixture siting in the pen, watching grass grow in the wind.

Ahhh, here we go just like then,
the bullpen phone rings again.
What the heck is he doing now
the bullpen coach who frets and frowns.
He’s really upset, I can tell,
he’s pointing, waving and then he yells.

What? He’s staring at me,
he says, “get out there son” they want to see!
To see if your made of tougher stuff,
of grit and guts who says “ I must!”

I make my way towards the mound,
while my skipper and catcher wait on its crown.
I can’t believe I’ve made now,
but the crowd is laughing and even howls.
My skipper smiles and shakes his head,
and then I notice in all my hast,
while our catcher holds a smirked full mug.
darn-it all, I forgot my glove.

By the way, did I ever tell you why I just love this game?

Coach B.