A childhood dream
Was playing third base
For my P.B.C. team
My arm was strong
And my batting just fair
My coach a friends dad
A repairman at Sears
Saturday’s games
Were never a big deal
While making the plays
On that old field at Steele
Soon everything changed
It all became real
Nowhere near full grown
It was time to move up
The High School team known
For its tryouts and cuts
We had three days to perform
Playing red hot
Or even lukewarm
Prayers were still needed
To weather that storm
The shrill of his whistle
And fierce eyes of the coach
Oh those dreaded sprinting drills
Were enough to scare most
Then the day came
When the team list
Was taped to the wall
A name there or not
Was relief for some if not all
Who knows I suppose baseball
Has more than one point of view
But I still like to revisit
The days I once knew
On that old field
At Steele