With the start of the first inning as the wind whistled through the tree's Our short stop had his shoulder broke and the fates blew in on the breeze
This team was a thorn in the side of the Harding Presidents Club It was on this night my son Tate was scheduled to play as a sub
The kid pitching for North Union hurled a cooking heater down field You could hear that freight train coming as it's hide was 'bout to be peeled
Their coach then rallied his talent pressing their shoulders to the wheel like natives dancing 'round a fire driving devils who'd struck a deal
A death defying mid-air, catch the bounding, ball tossed on the run The Devil was in town this night riding in on the setting sun
They dove and slid then nearly flew as if the angels rode their backs While running bases half possessed plowing the field with cleated tracks
No one remembered the last time that our team had beaten this bunch That night they took the field in style serving them all up for their lunch , The dice kept coming up seven and oh prophetically so When the sun had finally set the score was seven to zero
Come ye father's follow your child through the tough times every one For the oft chance will someday come when they will have finally won
Written April 12, 2014 Americans love the underdogs. original http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1342622/
Original video poem of the same http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1354978/
Americans love the underdogs. It is such an American thing to do. Because the thrill of a win from a team thought washed up gives us all hope that the dreams that were washed away in our own youth could be rekindled and burn again.Such is the nexus of the American soul!