The roar from the crowd with my deep and long breaths
The smell of the hotdogs and the dust from the baseball field
Standing on the mound ball in hand, count is 2, 2
Curveball is what the catcher calls for

Grasp the ball start my windup
Time stands still silence in the crowd
Sweat dripping down my face
Striding forward towards home plate
The taste of dirt and bubble gum in my mouth
In my peripherals I see the green grass and the crowd in the stands

i cock my arm back up and over my head
Twisting my wrist as I let go of the ball
SNAP! CRACK! STRIKE!
Falling to the ground with the worst pain in the world
Can’t straighten my arm
Is it broken?

Weeping and moaning to the hospital
Closing my eyes as we do the x Rays
Not just broken
But shattered