I’m trying to learn to thrown this ball, across an infield green
it doesn’t have to travel far, this ball of red stitched seams.
But first it has to travel, in a way that’s faster than the light,
but the second time it travels, it has to break in tight,
or maybe curve and wobble, or simply sink and drop,
but most of all I want to hear, the plate ump call - you’re out!
But to this I’m only dreaming, this pitch I’m trying to learn,
it’s not as easy as it looks, and thus I am forlorn.
Now I’ve tried to grip this thing across the seams just so,
but every time I throw the thing, over the fence it goes.
And every batter on the bench knows how easy it is,
to swing a bat at my pitch, then sail it in the wind.
Whoever designed this ball, must have thought it quite a joke,
to snicker, giggle, laugh and point, and even jab and poke.
And to this day I’m made a fool by this tiny little thing,
well I’ll be darn, if I didn’t lose …another one again!
What the heck is going on, I’ve practiced tried and true,
I’ve practiced all through the night, until I’m turning blue!
And my catcher is no help at all, he squats and shakes his head,
he holds up his mitt, then looks at me, as if I was already dead!
Well I’ll show him, that muscle headed lug,
I’ll show him, behind that cage, hiding that ugly mug.
So I send down a beauty, not wanting to be all done,
and to my surprise the ump stands up and shouts … “strike one!”
“Well, that’s more like it”, and I start to feel brand new,
so I rear back and launch another, and then I hear … “strike two!”
Well now I’m feeling really smug, and I start to strut around,
as my spikes claw at the rubber, and dig down in the ground.
“Fool with me will ya…” I mutter to myself, as I’m ready for another,
so I look at the ball, and spin it a while, and talk to it like a brother.
“Now look here, pal, it’s just you and me now,
so let’s try and get this one right.”
So across the laces I grab, I dig my fingers tight,
then I let it fly, with true of eye, like a lighting through the night.
A blistering pitch, spinning stitch by stitch, it surely has no equal,
and like the other two, as this batter will see, it’s just another sequel.
Well the batter takes hold, and swings so bold, and misses it completely,
he’s out for strike three, and I’m relieved as can be, and I start jumping for glee.
Now my catcher calls time, with a smile on his face, and takes a walk out to mound,
he gives me the ball, a pat on the back, then turns me around.
He walks me back to the rubber,
gives me a look like a mother,
and quietly tells me while grinning,
“hate to tell ya this kid, that’s only one out, and your still stuck in the first inning!”