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 Inspiration |
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"Failure is Not Falling Down - It's Refusing to Get Up"
There are only three givens - you can either give up... give in... or give it your all.
"They Are Wrong"
Some people think baseball is just a game...
THEY ARE WRONG!
Baseball is about reaching deep inside yourself
to catch the ball that can't be caught...
and to hit the pitch that can't be hit.
It is about the soul.
Baseball is about bad hops, bad breaks,
bad throws... and bad calls.
It is about striking out and making errors.
It is about overcoming all of those things.
"Beyond A Game"
It is a white ball against
A sky so blue it hurts your eyes
It is thick grass, so perfectly green
Day fading into evening
As cheers fade to silence
Soft moonlight on an empty park
Full of promise with morning light
Crack of a bat, the graceful arc
Flies over the wall
Little white thing, focus of all eyes
It is breathing hard in soft evening air
Running the perfect white line
To reach a base
Unending promise, untapped possibility
Beyond baseball, beyond a game
It is beauty.
"No Game Tonight"
Another night without baseball
Another day without a game
Tomorrow morning without a box score
And life is no longer the same.
Pull the tarp over my heart
And dim down the stadium lights
Take the hot dogs off the grill
There'll be no game tonight.
"A Ballplayer's Prayer"
God grant me wisdom,
to tell a strike from a ball,
to know where to throw
and never to fall.
Keep me always in the base line,
running straight and true
and I'll look for your sign,
to stretch one into two.
God give me vision,
to see every pitch,
so if a player needs help,
then I will see which.
Let me always hustle,
so I'll be at my best
and take pride in myself,
in sports and the rest.
God be my strength,
when I throw the ball
when I'm far from home plate,
or against a wall.
So I never miss a base,
please guide my feet,
bring me home safely,
so my job is complete.
When I help younger players,
let me always give praise,
so they'll see you in me,
in all of my ways.
God please guide our coach,
to be fair and smart,
to teach us to be good,
let it come from his heart.
Let me take a loss,
just as well as a win,
to do any less,
is surely a sin.
As long as I can play,
let me make my parents proud,
as proud as I am,
when they yell MY name out loud.
However my games end,
let me always have fun
and if Heaven has All Stars,
I want to be one.
When my games here are over
and my seasons are done,
let me play on your team.
just like your son.
Amen.
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"He Stands All Alone"
He stands at the plate
with his heart pounding fast;
The bases are loaded,
the die has been cast.
Mom and Dad cannot help him,
he stands all alone.
A hit, at this moment,
would send the teams home.
The ball nears the plate,
he swings and he misses.
There's a groan from the crowd,
with some boos and some hisses.
A thoughtless voice cries,
"Strike out the bum!"
Tears fill his eyes,
the game's no longer fun.
So open your heart
and give him a break,
For it's moments like this
a man you can make.
Keep this in mind
when you hear someone forget.
He's just a little boy
not a man yet.
"Dreams"
The crack of the bat,
the yell of the umpire.
The Louisville Sluggers,
once again are on fire.
Bubble gum snapping...
dusty old gloves.
As they enter the field
to do what they all love.
Shiny cleats
on the cold cement floor.
Like a hundred tap dancers,
going through the dugout door.
From sandlot to Little League...
from High School to college teams.
The ghosts of those before them,
still haunt their dreams.
The bleachers are loaded,
fans screaming their cheers.
Everyone's watching,
no time to fear!
Unforgiving dropped balls,
winning streaks and slumps.
One crack of the bat,
and the adrenaline pumps!
Full counts...
and a spectacular caught ball.
Bases loaded,
always giving their all.
Bottom of the ninth,
everyone's tense.
A crack of the bat...
and the ball's over the fence!!!
The boys of summer
with smiles on their faces.
Broken-in ball gloves,
with tattered laces.
From Little League boys
to big league teams.
Nothing will ever,
replace those dreams.
"Casey at the Bat"
Casey at the Bat: A Ballad of the Republic
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
(taken From the San Francisco Examiner - June 3, 1888)
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go.
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville--great Casey has struck out.
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"To Measure a Baseball Player - Measure His Heart"
"Baseball does not build character... it reveals it"
Natural
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