relagated to the bench...

Something I was planning on reading yesternight @ Cafeine's (sp?) weekly open mic, but was unable to get around to it due to profuse sweating and soreness. The parrallels to real life problems (as in those that have nothing to do with baseballs) is quite staggering. Subconsciously intentional, even?

Relagated to the Bench

A star in highschool, he gets called up to play college ball.
Sunny afternoons of preparations. High socks. Ground Balls. Polyester. Sacrifice bunts.
He got ahead by doing what he does best; TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM.
Sore knees and bruised chest... Keep taking ground balls... Off the chest...

Not being on the cut-list was his tournaquette. He was happy to help in any way he could.

A star in highschool gets used to the view from the end of a bench...
Rain delays & batting cages.
Catcher's gear & bullpen sessions.
Going from star to insurance policy...
All city 3rd baseman sits on a suburban college bench.

In the bullpen catching so much, he hardly knows whats going on anymore...
He couldn't smile or frown without an update.
AND THOSE WERE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN...

Keep running. Foul pole to foul pole.
Early arrivals. Late deparutres from practice.
He got no response...
So he tried harder.

Worked harder.
Sweat harder.
Ached harder.
Bled harder.
Broke harder.
Cried harder.

"STAN," calls the coach. He was caught off guard as a hard groundball smashed into his face.
"Warm up the pitcher!"
The gear goes on like a leg comes off. AMPUTATION of all fun.

A star in highschool is relagated to the bench.

Blood replaces sweat in his pores as he decides to Work. Harder.

"15 years isn't for nothin'." he says. He desperately clings to what he has as it slips through his fingers...

Bases loaded. Catcher's gear stil on from morning bullpens. Half of the team didn't even show up to the game... He was there.
He caught the major league prospect with the nasty slider and blazing fast ball until his hands bled...

And then he kicked himself for not having a better glove...

NO. REWARDS.
NO. GLORY.
NO. RESPECT.
NO. POINT.

WORK. HARDER...

Bases still loaded. Lazy-ass still on deck.

"STAN! Grab a bat."

He didn't remember what the batter's box looked like. But he grabbed his bat and remembered the drills he did day in & day out.

0-1.
0-2.
Foul Ball.
1-2.
Foul Ball.
Foul Ball.
2-2.
Foul Ball.
3-2...

Rehearsed forever, he stands on first base as the two runs he just drove in with a single up the middle tightens the tounaquette a bit more...

From getting hit in batting practice to not being allowed batting practice to save time, he notices changes... His work is going nowhere.

He lost 40 lbs.
He went home sick every night.
He made himself bleed.
He brought himself to the edge and had nothing left to go back on. No strength. No energy.
All for you.
All for nothing.

He sees its the end. He doesn't know when or how he'll accept it, just that he will.
For a time, he hates himself.
he hates what he forced himself to do...
And everytime he watches on T.V., he knows he's not good enough and never was. He thinks nothing will ever satisfy him again.
The feel of a new uniform...
Jumping over a fresh foul line in the 1st inning...
The scrapes after a diving catch in the dirt...
The connection of bat & ball...
He now feels nothing because the game felt nothing for him.

He doesn't know if the bases are loaded or the pitchers need warming up...

All he knows is its time to drop the mask and return the favor to the one thing he worked so hard for...

By walking away.


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