Night Ball Poem by Brian Aji

You lead off.
Grab a bat.
It's cold out
But somehow you're comfortable.
The lit up field is overwhelming.
You step out of the box
And take a deep breath.
You let it all soak in.
The crowd is a silent roar
In which you can't hear,
But you can only feel.
Not an 'I got hit on my hand! ' feel,
But the one only a nightballer can know.
You step back in
And dig out your hole with your back foot,
A nightballer's instinct.
You see a gap in right-center,
So appealing, So.......perfect.
All these thoughts and emotions go through your head in the few seconds before the first pitch has been thrown.
Here it comes.
Take a pitch- I don't think so,
Belt high, straight down the pipe.
You inside out it to the forementioned right-center gap.
It splits the outfielders, bounces its way to the wall.
You don't hesitate......once the ball is hit you're almost half-way to first.
You round first, next destination- second base.
Your inside foot hits second as the center fielder tracks the ball down.
You round second, eyes set on third.
The ball gets to the cut-off man, you're so close to a triple.
No hesitation deciding to go to third, or to try to regain second- You're going to third.
You slide in head-first, mouth full of dirt.
Your hands rap around the bag, just before the third baseman tags you.
A cloud of dust appears, and out of the dust, you see an umpire.
His arms and mouth in chorus yell, 'Safe! '
And the great thing about baseball is-
That was just pitch number one.