The Pitch

I spent a few hours last night watching the home

team on TV, me an old man now reclining in my

chair of soothing relief. As a younger man, I con-

sidered, I could have hit that pitched slider. I

would have likely connected my bat, sending that

ball sailing 380-feet over the left center field wall.

The batter standing at the plate is less than half my

age. He nervously waives his bat as the pitcher

winds, kicks and delivers. A fastball this time, a

mighty swing and a miss.“Steeerike two! The ump

cries, raising and pointing the index finger on his

right hand. And I thought, were I a younger man

again with but one more chance at bat. Oh, just one

more swing, I would surely show them all and crush

that ball. Then suddenly before my eyes, and well

within my strike zone, a housefly sails by. So, I

grabbed the cane resting by my side, leveling a swift

and mightyful try. A swing and a miss. Unfortunately,

it happened to be one of those damn knuckle-ball flies.

Even in my younger years, I had a hell of a time trying

to connect with that pitch. Next time, fly me a fastball

or slider by. I may not be on the same field with those

young snips playing on TV, but from the comfort of where

I’m sitting, and with my cane, I still have a couple of good
swings left in me. 

Chris Hanch 7-2-17