We need the run; it’s up to me!
I can’t just play it safe at third,
Hoping for a long fly or a single
With two outs! The pitcher’s focused,
Laser beam eyes on the batter
And the plate. I can’t bounce
Back and forth, catch his eye,
Do a Jackie Robinson. I’ve got
To be coy, sly, an inch at a time.
The hurler’s a southpaw, not
Facing me, concentrating on
The batter, the strike zone, the
Runner on first, while I gently,
Silently shuffle my feet inches at
A time, waiting with two out
For just the perfect moment —
As he ignores me ‘cause
I’ve never stolen home before.
But that’s my edge; he leans
Toward home, steps off the
Rubber to scratch his head,
Glances at me and then
Stares at the first base runner,
Knowing I can make it back to
Third if I have to . . . He rubs
His hand with resin — Now’s
My chance. I take off head down,
Feel the breeze that I create , , ,
And hook slide to the outside of
Home plate, hoping that surprise
Will be my pal today. Here I am
And I hear the ump’s gruff shout
Exploding, echoing from the stands,
Deciding where there will be no appeal!
Oh, my God — I can’t believe it!!
Everyone’s surprised . . .
One way or the other.