The Spell of Baseball

Hope springs eternal … that classic proverb goes

And it’s baseball, the crack, that arc that keeps us on our toes

No not in Mudville but at Pilgrim, the outlook wasn’t very good

For the freshman nine, you see, who seldom swung with potent wood

Every yahoo, greenhorn, rookie made the freshman team, of course

There were no standing records, no one cared who won or lost

For coaches, sure they watched and scribed, in search of future stars

But for we ungifted players, that planet might be Mars

No uniforms were issued, canvas bat-bag stuffed with ash

A chance perhaps to pinch a run and make a thrilling dash!

My older brother’s baseball pants is what I wore for sport

Patched, too big and floppy, proud but rather short

Hope springs eternal … that classic proverb goes

And it’s baseball, the crack, that arc that keeps us on our toes

As I was coaching 3rd- base in the final inning late that day

I did not rue that I had never-ever had a chance to play

I was at least upon the field, if not between the lines

The coach had granted me this prize to code those secret signs

Hark, then the clouds did darken, and thunder gods began to clap

With the game all tied, now Draco, dreaded Draco came to bat

He liked to swing and often missed

But Drake could be our fist

Taller by a head than us, Drake might hit a soaring bird!

I dreamt that I would slap his hand as he was rounding third

But as Big-Drake dug-in and spat, his pants almost fell down!

Then Coach Sherman asked the ump for time … and offered me the crown!

He hailed my name with gusto before the crowd-less stands

It echoed through the trash barrels and across the sun-parched lands

Hope springs eternal … that classic proverb goes

And it’s baseball, the crack, that arc that keeps us on our toes

I gulped then dashed and got a bat, marching proudly to the plate

The coach then intercepted me before it was too late

“Draco needs your belt to hit, of this we did discover.”

My shoulders sank, I shook it off, but with grit I did recover

 I lay down that sacred lumber and gave it one last pat

Chucked my belt to Drake who tied it on and doffed to me his hat

Hope springs eternal … that classic proverb goes

And it’s baseball, the crack, that arc that keeps us on our toes

He swung that mighty cudgel and gave the ball a thwack

As lightning crashed and thunder roared, that ball would not come back!

There were no wooden fences, a runner needed to look toward third

And if his pants fell down, all loss, regret & tangle …

 would be the shameful word!

Cheering, one hand upon my knickers and the other waving high

I waved on home the winning run that day and smiled up toward the sky

I had worn the belt … the belt that won the game

And earned a nomination in the Footman’s Hall of Fame

Hope springs eternal … the classic proverb claims

Woven with the spell of baseball, and timeless, epic games