The Veteran

I step off the bus and there’s my fans, waiting just for me,
and chance to meet their hero, a chance for fantasy.
A glimmer of hope, a fading glimpse, of the best there is today,
for tomorrow I’ll be gone, no longer along - far, far away.

I stop a while, and gently smile - it drives the girls insane,
with muscles taught, with pearly teeth, and a blonde and flowing mane.
I try as I might, to blush with delight, and conserve all of my vane,
but I look just too darn good, and it’s all understood, my looks I just can’t contain.

Into my uniform I will suit, with no fret or nor frown,
because today I’m on top of the world.
for my ERA is so golden, and my pitches will truly confound.

Now my agent has said, “my boy your ahead”, of every record book there is to be had,
just pitch one more game, like all of the same, and you will drive all the sport’s writers mad!

As I walk to the pen, to stretch out and lend, my perfect form to the crowd,
the lineup of ladies, waving their …******, tells me that tonight will be worth the wait.

So the Skipper knows how perfect I throw, and tonight should be no surprise,
and I puts me right in, not bothering with the pen, the other club’s certain demise.

After warmups and stuff, I spit and I gruff, and motion to send it down after this,
so my last warm does go, then to second is the throw, then around the infield it whiffs.

The first guy I face has worry on his face, and he should be if he’s smart,
and I send down a beauty, a fastball with duty, but the darn thing goes out of the park.

Oh well I do say, that’s only one pitch, let’s not get all upset and remark,
say bad things about, the way that you thought, after all it’s a very small park!

So the next guy I face, has again worry on his face, after all he should be if he’s smart,
and I send down a beauty, a curve ball with duty, but the darn thing goes out of the park!

Now right about then, my Skipper will send, my pitching coach and he will say,
settle down son, under the sun, or it’s back down to triple A.
Oh man, why always me, this man of beauty, so handsome and talented yet,
to be down by two, I’m really in a stew, and my bookie stops making his bets.

Ok, I do say, it’s time to put away, all this vane and selfishness thought,
so I face batter three, but as luck would deal me, another horse hide’s out of the park!

Now no more do the girls, wave and do twirl, their **** for later delights,
but if I continue this way, on any given day, this will be my last night.

Batter four steps in, and sheepishly grins - he knows I’m sweating a storm,
I just swallowed my chew and I’m all blue, and my record is all tattered and torn.

Well, what the heck I do say, triple A is ok, a change from this madness I chase,
but then I remember, all the favors that I’m tendered, so I’m gonna burn this guy at the plate.

I rear back and toss, my best pitch of them all, and “strike one” is the call by the ump.
So two more I deliver, and again he does shiver, and then he goes down for the count.

The inning I did close, and walked off to the noise, of fans jeering and calling me names,
gone were kids and gone were their dads, - heck gone were even the dames!

As I settle in and relaxed, I couldn’t help but look back, at the bullpen just to my right,
there on the end, was a young pitcher - number ten, with smiles that lit up the night.
He had a gentle smile - it drove the girls wild, with muscles and white pearly teeth,
and as I pondered away, of this game I did play, he reminded me a lot about me.

He just wanted a chance to show all that class, and watch all the fans yell and wave,
oh he’ll get his big chance to live this romance, but tonight I’m going all the way.

I closed five more innings, and exhausted I was, sweating and dragging my spikes,
“I’m going to spell ya”, my pitching coach said, and that sounded just right.
So in goes the kid, with smiles of delight, and takes the hill till the eight,
when he’s pulled from the mound, with a fret and a frown, no longer a smile on his face.

The kid sits next to me, as my bones crack and creek, and he looks at me so perplexed,
he says… “ how do you do it, game after game, and still look the same”,
with his voice so anxious and vexed.
“It takes years of experience son, of looking so good, and for me it’s really no sweat!”
As the kid walks away, shaking his head, I lean back and enjoy the rest,
I lean on my glove, giving my jacket a tug, then fall fast asleep on the bench.

Coach B.

I don’t know how many times I’m going to say this but.

Beautiful work Coach B.!

Coach B.—at least you should compile all these poems into a book! :slight_smile:

I’d buy it