Arizona is now a memory,
The heat of the desert, history.
The people are cheering wildly
And the wind is blowing mildly.
A screaming vendor yells, "Get your beer!"
While the umpire shouts, "Yer outta here!"
I scramble on deck to test my wood;
With donut wrapped 'round, the swing feels good.
A hard, bouncing ball is nicely played.
I tighten my gloves, my hitting aide.
Time for my first at bat of the year.
Ball number one whizzes past my ear.
I peer at the pitcher with wide eyes
and I watch strike one speed past my thighs.
Determined to swing, I take a rip.
The contact sounds like a cracking whip.
The crowd jumps up and the ball soars high.
I watch as it flies through the blue sky.
I trot to first and let out a growl
When to my dismay the ball hooks foul.
One and two count, the pressure's on me.
A swing and miss; the ump yells "Strike Three!"
Back to the dugout, feeling no shame,
No big deal, we will still win the game.
Opening Day brings a new season.
Despite my luck, I smile with reason.
I may have struck out, but I'm no scrub.
Things could be worse: I could be a Cub. |
