7 AM is when i wake up,
The same routine every morning.
Eating breakfast is optional.
I look at the highlights of last night's ballgame.
How dear to my heart was the old fashioned game.
As I drive the same way to school.
I think about the game.
I think of past and present hall of famers.
Who pitched nine innings of perfection,
Or maybe just one.
The new kid tearing up the league.
And the old arm still earning his paycheck.
From the spring to the fall,
This is where champions are made.
Home Runs and the strikeouts,
The mind game within it all.
A million things can happen with each pitch,
You have to be prepared for anything and everything.
I dream of the day I get that chance.
Where the crowd is chanting my name,
Or when they begin to scold it.
I dream of being the young gun,
And the old arm with much to teach.
As I park and get out of the car,
Reality hits me and the day goes on.
Just like any other.