A Poem About Pitchers

Today's post will just be a forward of a very interesting piece of literature I came across during my "travels." I post quite a bit on a pitching website called LetsTalkPitching.com. One of the administrators actually wrote a poem about pitchers that I decided to share with you. The author identifies himself as Coach Baker and has obviously had quite an extensive baseball career, both playing and coaching. So here it is...



Wizards and warlocks, out of deepen darken halls,
with spells and chants, as they dance the white ball.
With seams that spin, wobble and churn,
with the flick of their wrists, and a turn of their palm.

This man does stand on mysterious ground,
from ten inches high, measures the mound.
A stark white mantel is the perch that he stands astride,
as his magic is spun upon the horse hide he drives.

Now not all wizards are gifted as such,
nor are they equal with all the magical stuff.
Some have pitches with spells that react,
while other take chances with happenstance.

Ah, but then there are those that history will say,
had the gift of true wizardry, on any given day.
That special man who could weave at his will,
like words of an author with the stroke of his quill.
And many a roster, regardless of mix,
has tested this master will all of this tricks.

But try as they may to unseat from his mound,
the true wizard of wizards, and remove his bright crown.
With fastballs, curves, sliders and more,
with change-ups and pitch-outs, their frustration did soar.
Again and again, they charge the old man,
with battle axes of lumber gripped in their hands.

But with the stroke of his wands, and a glare cold as ice,
he’d vanquish the rosters, and turn men into mice.
These were no ordinary spells, no chants of delight,
for they were as deadly in the sunlight as they were in the night.

And as the last spell was cast, and the last battle done,
after so many years, he put down his ole wand.
And yet he was drawn to this mysterious game,
a game that gave meaning and a purpose to his name.
Lined up were those that who would serve the ole man,
and learn all they could from his experienced hands.

For this is the way of the heart and the mind,
the way of the ball and the magic of nine.
And the young apprentice listens with glee,
to learn from the master, the magic of STRIKE THREE!

Coach B.