He was a pioneer of sorts, in his younger days,
Managing to negotiate his first contract all by
Himself, getting a pretty decent one-year deal.
He was so fast! He once stole second and third
on one pitch, they say. He had long, thin legs
that were never injured, and muscular batters
envied his speed. He went from team to team,
showing off Olympic zip; he had even won a
gold medal in the 100-meter dash! They say that
he could open a refrigerator, snatch his meal
and close the fridge door before the light went on.
That, if true, would put Cool Papa Bell to
shame, and they say that only Time ever
caught up to Cool Papa – – – but back to
Mr. Speed. He was known for running down
a line drive in right, a ball with an exit velocity
over 110 mph, catching up to it – – – and coming
this close to snatching it before it hit the warning
track! They gave him nicknames like
Lightning Bolt and Blaze, and he wore them
proudly. He waited patiently at the end of the
bench for his name to be called and he was
always ready. But team by team found the
time . . . to release him, to say farewell to the
Blaze. He then walked away slowly, because,
You see, he never figured out a way to
Negotiate his way onto first base.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME