Almost there: this close to where it all began;
So close to a run on the road to victory
(Or, maybe, catching up) —
Third base comes before the score
(In more ways than one but this is about baseball).
It is the loneliest of bases, seeing much less action
Than its companions . . . sometimes even nothing
At all . . . when there are well-pitched games,
Shut-outs, the rare no-hitter, and the like.
On days such as those it’s like third base doesn’t
Do its job or have a job to do, just lying there,
Staring up at the glaring gaudy sun
Or the moon in one of its moody phases.
It takes much patience to be stationary, waiting
For action to come its way, but it is comforted
In its recognition that it lies ready when its turn arrives —
Its turn to be the faithful soldier supporting the march of
Uniformed men on their way home to where it
Matters most. Third base has the least to do but the
Least turns into the most (almost) when it is
Called upon to do its share for victory.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME