He was always the teammate chosen last
when finally some captain had the small
disappointing choice of picking him.
Then there was the time when he was the
heart of the outfield because he could do
little damage. Suddenly someone hit a
fly ball whose angle he mathematically
determined. “I have it!” he shouted.
The captain instructed: “let him do it!”
Geometrically he caught it.
With amazing silliness he fell backwards
on the ground holding on to the ball in his
inexperienced grasp. He would never
duplicate such a catch again.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME