I grab my helmet and my lucky bat,
High five my team on the way out,
I run to the plate and get into my stance.
Knees bent and hands close to my ear; perfect.
While the crowd cheers on for my homerun chance,
The cheers from my teammates echo from the dugout.
The games on the line,
The scores 8 to 9.
Two outs and my last at bat,
Here comes the ball,
My heart’s beating like tap dancing shoes,
One more strike and my team will lose.
The pitcher starts her wind up,
Here comes the ball, again.
I see the neon ball hit my bat,
I smack the ball,
Like a rocket ship through the skies.
It flies and flies and flies.
I run and run and run.
Rounding third base my coach tells me to head home,
It’s risky, head down and pumping my arms with every leap I take.
The ball rolls in,
Looking at the ball, then the plate, then the ball,
Will I make it home?
The catcher, ready to catch the ball and block my slide,
Inches away I am from home,
Teammates cheer on for a homerun.
I slide; I slide under the tag,
I’m safe and the score is mine,
The score is ours; my team’s.
I couldn’t have done it alone;
Teamwork is what I needed,
To make it home.
This was an assignment for my creative writing class; I had to write an Ode to a hobby or an object. I chose softball because it was such a big part of my life growing up. Starting at the age of five with tee-ball, I grew up spending my summers on dirt and winters inside on turf. Softball allowed me to be on many teams, meet a lot of other girls, have great coaches, and travel all over the country. This sport also allowed me to experience collegiate softball until medical issues occurred and I had to end my career. I miss this sport, I miss the weekend-long tournaments, and I miss the sound of the ball hitting the bat.