The amazing feeling
Not knowing what will happen

When we start it’s tough--
Getting the timing
Of priming
For the hit,
The catch.

Baseball is cooking
When learning, they’re the same
As everyone around
When their experience grows they individualize
Changing spices, temps, and styles.
Formulating new recipes of their own.

The rules are boa constrictors
Restricting our individualism, keeping us from freedom.
When we relax and get used to it, the boa loosens
And
Falls away,
But follows us forever,
Always reminding us that it’s still there.

We grow repeating the tasks
Until we get so used to the motion that we
React
Unthinking

Reacting in the split second
That the ball is coming at us
Our mind takes the speed of the ball
Then tells our hand to close

Batting
Our brains decide:
Ball or strike?
We don’t think
We just do

The best feelings are
Hitting the ball
Right in the sweet spot,
Catching a ball, diving,
In midair.

Near the end constriction returns;
Competing with younger players
Now with creaking bones.

We all have our own stopping points,
But does that really mean
We just
Give up
The whole game?
I know one thing though; it wouldn’t be it for me.

I will fight the boa until the end.