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May 2014
I started at the edge of my seat.
Subconsciously found my way to my feet.
I look at the mound, and then at the plate.
This is our chance.
Our one last hope.

He steps in the box with a glare at the mound.
First with the right,
And then with the left.
Bottom of the 9th with two men out.
Come on, batter, just relax.

Down by one with a man on first.
A tingle runs up and down my spine.
There goes a strike.
Now there's two.
Down to our last...

Then a ball comes through.
The count one and two.
Here comes another.
Now two and two.

A strike or a ball?
Only the pitcher knows for sure.
He winds his body up
And then follows through.


This one's headed for the wall.
The crowd stares in awe as we look at the ball.
The fielder runs back, but stops at the track.
Before I knew it, he was touching em' all!

A fist in the air as he rounds first base.
He claps his hands as he rounds second.
When he reaches third he shakes someone's hand.
He touches home plate and I take off my hat.

**And that's how we won with one swing of the bat.
The Whisper
Written by
The Whisper  24/M/Los Angeles
(24/M/Los Angeles)   
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