I’m from America’s pastime,
the fans chanting from the bleachers.
I’m from the diamond,
with the smell of fresh cut grass.
I’m from the dugout floors painted with sunflower seeds.

I’m from the brisk spring mornings,
and humid summer nights.
I’m from the eyeblack,
leaving black stains on my equipment.
I’m from the sounds of popping,
as I see the ball hitting the glove.

I’m from the powered lights at night,
I need to wear my sunglasses.
I’m from painful nights,
and emergency room visits
I’m from America’s pastime,
the best time of my life.