A slumber disturbed before the crack of dawn,

I have a game at 9.

I have to be there at 8.

Ping of the metal on the leather ball while

taking batting practice.

Baseballs soar like birds through air

I have to get ready for the game,

I have to win and advance.

Feet planted right

in center,

Each blade of thick grass passes by.

Leading off the lineup.

I have to perform,

I have to play well

Time ticks by

a cool dampness under my bill,

Dirty pants stained with clay and

cleats filled with mud.

Losing,

I have to keep fighting

I have to keep playing

Win or lose

baseball

became my game.

It consumed me and

provided a rush like no other.

It became my life.