It’s cold and brisk,
as I shivered and twist,
of the icy chill this morn.
It’s the playoffs now,
and by luck somehow,
My ace will do it again.
The bus ride is slow,
to the park we go,
crossing lanes of traffic and lights.
This early morning’s dawn,
listening to the radio’s song,
sipping coffee and donuts delights.
The sun’s crystal glaze,
on the frost laced maze,
of windows lining our bus.
And shadows that run,
across the backrests and us,
for a win tonight is a must.
The stadium cement is sparkled and wet,
from the frozen dew last night,
and the sun makes its way,
through wired windows it plays,
as darkened ramps steam from the light.
The echos from rooms of wired laced looms,
printed names marking their frames.
Hanging uniforms and hats,
men standing on mats,
hoping for fortune and fame.
The morning workouts go well,
and meetings will tell,
of what is truly expected tonight.
From the Skipper on down,
our game plan is sound,
as if everything is going to be right.
But history has shown,
regardless of the knows,
how surprises can come out of sight.
So we reassure ourselves again,
with the clicks of our pens,
and a simple nod of our chins.
So I make my way over to my ace today,
so confident of my place in sun.
He’s my go-to guy, when things get spry,
and I’ll be using him today, my big gun.
Now my Skipper has asked me twice,
is our ace alright, with nervousness and a twitch.
He’s as right as rain Skipper, I say with a wink,
then I point over to my right.
But an empty pen, so lonely and within,
no uniform or hat does it hold.
Nor standing on the mat, so strong and tall,
nor standing so strong and bold.
No ace do I see, no reason for glee,
just a deep lump in my throat.
Please tell me he’s near,
please tell me I’ll hear,
his voice here and about.
NO - to it all, as I lean against the wall,
and remove my cap from head.
He’s done it again,
left me wide open at both ends,
the second time this week!
For he’s back at the motel,
and I stare out in a spell
I’ll be darn if not fast asleep.
Well, it didn’t go well that night,
fact is, we got shelled out of sight.
From the first pitch to last,
we just ran out of gas,
to the game we were just a blight.
When it was over - thank God,
we were covered in sod,
showing our effort that night.
But nowhere was our ace,
who was penciled in the space,
to keep the balls out of the lights.
Into the lobby I strolled, for a coffee to hold,
when I saw our ace sitting there.
The coffee I poured, and stirred with a spoon,
ringing against my cup,
when our ace sat up, and asked so abrupt,
“hey guys, what’s up?”
Now home I do sit, in my easy chair forthwith,
while snow flows over the roads,
my wife gave me coco and said moments later,
I think there’s something you should know.
“I see in the paper,
your ace of days later,
signed a contract of favor,
for millions and possibly more.”
I turned the page of my paper,
passing the favored,
scanning that section that haunted,
for me in the snow,
there’s only one section I’ll know,
that section called the HELP WANTED.
Coach B. :dozey: