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Personal Note:
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Poem
I remember the day of my nine pitch inning.
Though it happened over forty years ago.
The day was hot, yet cloudy,very little breeze.
 
I went through my usual stretching and running.
The guys knew to leave me alone before the game.
The stadium was slowly filling, an early crowd.
It had rained in the morning and the grass was damp.
The fresh cut grass was sticking to my cleats,
which meant the mound's clay would too.
 
I didn't know much about the other team,
except they were from the Red's organization.
Then again they'd never seen me either.
We were the home team, so I took the mound first.
My catcher and I had just met, me having just been brought up.
We decided to go all fast balls to get into a rhythm.
 
The first batter stepped up, a tall right handed hitter.
Tom my catcher set up with the center of his body,
six inches off the outside of the plate.
This meant if I hit the glove where he had it,
it would be a ball.I used a two seam grip, 
putting pressure on the outside finger.
This would make the ball appear futher out,
before breaking about seven inches towards the hitter.
Still a ball, but something for him to see,
to leave in his mind.To our amazement the umpire 
set up directly,behind my cathcher.
The call, strike one!Tom and I looked at each other and smiled.
I immediately changed to a four seam grip,
which stays on a truer line.The next two pitches were six inches off
yet called strike two!Strike three!
The next two batters were set down in order.
Three pitches apiece.All balls.All called strikes.
After that inning and a few helmets slammed,
along with a few bats.We never got that pitch called 
a strike again.The umpire had called those pitches, 
not by the plate, but, by the center of my catcher.
We thought it funny to strike three guys out,
on nine pitches, none that were actually a strike,
And none that were swung on by any batter.

contest..Batter Up
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