Play Ball!
It’s just a game we call baseball.
Nine men playing out in the sun.
It seems like a simple endeavor;
Of throw, catch, hit and then run.
We call it the “national pastime”,
From memories of earlier days.
When boys and their fathers took time off,
To come out and watch grown men play.
Many consider it boring.
They don’t understand how to wait.
Nine chess pieces out on a field.’
One batsman alone at the plate.
There’s no other game just like baseball.
With no other sport does it fit.
The contest could go on forever—
There’s no clock to tell us to quit.
The man with the ball? He plays defense.
Most men on the offense sit down.
An umpire judges each motion.
The manager paces and frowns.
Baseball can be a real heartbreak.
But that suits the real fan just fine.
Each game is in doubt ‘til it’s over.
The best teams may lose half the time.
A hero must put up with failure,
Each season brings errors to mind.
And even the greatest of hitters,
Succeeds just 3 out of l0 tries.
Owners spend millions of dollars,
And players spend all of their prime.
But the fan is the one who’s the winner,
Of the game played on grass in sunshine.
