He stood in right field with a glove on his hand, he'd been fearful, dreading this day. An eight year old boy, first time in the game, and the ball might be coming his way. What am I doing here? he thought, I stink at this game, A loser, way out of my depth. Oh please dear God, whatever you do, hit to Tommy at first base, or Rudy in left. Crack! went the bat as it met with the ball leaving home with astonishing speed. Higher and higher it rose as it soared, but he saw that it wasn't to be. What will I do, what will I do?, he cried as the ball reached it's peak, I'll never make this catch. All eyes were on him as the ball slowly fell, not a word did the spectators speak. Griped by fear, his vison blurred, the fans were all on their feet. He watched as the sphere fell from the sky; with fateful resolve, his mouth going dry, he circled and circled beneath. The crowd gave a gasp! as he stumbled, then fell in the rock strewn, rutted sand. But the gasps turned to shrieks, as he rose to his feet, with the ball, overhead, in his hand!! He'll always remember that glorious day when he walked like a King in this land. From that day evermore, whether challenged or torn he knows in his heart, Yes I can!!!
Reason for writing:
While catching fly balls with my 10 year old son's little league time I found myself reliving the trama of dropping the ball in a critical game when I was an eight year old ball player.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Del Wynn (Virgo).