This pitch that I got, a curve ball it’s called,
and of all of my pitches, it’s the best of them all.
And when it’s working, like a magical spell,
not a batter could touch it, nor could they tell,
when it will dip, curve or just float them by,
this beautiful thing, this curve ball of mine.
But when its not working, it just hangs in the air,
just to good to be true, as a batter would stare.
As his hands would twist and wring at the bat,
waiting for the ball to hall-off and smack…
Now as soon as I release it I could tell right away,
that darn ball is gone, its gone for the day.
A fickle ole pitch with a mind of its own,
that fickle ole pitch that took me years to hone.
If can grip it just right, along on the seams,
or maybe across, with my thumb underneath.
And then there’s my arm, when positioned just so,
poised up and back just prior to throw.
Now I’ll release this pitch with my palm to the side,
bringing it down and across my right side,
then down and across my numbered chest,
hoping the ball will do all the rest.
And there it goes, with a beautiful arch,
sailing towards home so gentle and smart.
I open my eyes and to see such a sight,
“I’ve nailed it” I say, with all my delight.
My catcher waits there for the pitch to arrive,
but he shaking his head, - I’m stunned and surprised.
For he knows it’s a floater, its an obvious fact,
as the batter rears back, and connects with his bat!
I’m pulled off the mound, replaced just again,
I’m sent to the dugout, and sit at the end.
I guess my days are number, I think to myself,
I’ll just be a memory, a thing on a shelf.
I’ve just realize my season is done,
this job that I have with fun in the sun.
I realize it now, as I rest and I sit,
after all, that the darn curve ball, was a my best pitch!