Cold off the bench.
Step into the box.
Soaked in sweat,
Head to my socks.
Tight in the shoulders.
Cold in the hands.
Knees start to wobble.
Like rubber bands.
Settle down dammit!
Concentrate.
Step out of the box.
Make him wait.
Take two wide ones.
Miss with a cut.
Wrenching rumble
Deep in my gut.
Count two and one.
Expecting my pitch.
Here it comes.
Hit the son-of-a-bitch!
Hard line drive.
Solid wood.
Split the gap.
Damn, that feels good!
Cruise into second.
End of my slump.
Start of a streak –
Yeah! Fist pump!
Knew I could do it.
Never a doubt.
Back to the minors?
What’s that all about?