Follow your dreams and the money will follow.
This September Sunday the promise is hollow
Hernandez from Ecuador put out our light
Before a small crowd on a drizzly night
To finish the game, the season, the year
The hopes and the dreams of my baseball career.
Eight years of riding from hamlet to town
On an old Greyhound bus always set to break down.
Don’t want to go home, be constantly nailed
As the great high school slugger who went forth and failed
The hours of drills, the endless repeats
Of the coaches’ instructions and cleaning of cleats
A game made of numbers, run black on white page
My number is up now -- because it’s my age.
I guess I can tell them I went out to try
Arrived at this parking lot, watched my dream die.
Oh, pick up the bat bag and get on the bus.
Somebody won today, but it wasn’t us.
3 comments:
A. E. Housman-worthy, nicely done!
We have an A level minor league team, the Salem Red Sox. It's always sad to see a player in his mid to late 20s, 'cause you know he's destined for car sales or some such (NTTAWWT).
You need to do minor league baseball like Kurt Russel did it. Your dad owns the team.
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