Oh Lord, why do You tease me so,
like some poor narrator
in a Stephen Crane short story?
You dangle hope of landing
on the shores of victory,
but leave me defeated,
stranded in a rowboat on choppy seas.
You let the other team score 10 quick runs,
then have my team claw back within 2,
ending the game with the tying runners on base.
Why do you offer me such hope,
only to have it so brutally crushed?
Fortunes in life and baseball seem so arbitrary,
with wins and losses hanging on whether
the ball goes fair or foul, whether the fastball
gains or loses the plate by an inch or two.
God, I realize You are the Ultimate Umpire,
resolving questions of fair or foul, safe or out,
but would it be rude of me to inquire
if your signals and decisions could be delivered
with a lot less whimsy, and a lot more clarity?
THE POETRY OF THE GAME