The Next Big Thing

A September call-up, pennant race; Colossal bat and fresh young face. Believed the hype and promised much But found a pitch he couldn’t touch. Fast tracked by coaches for greater good, From age of nine he swung sweet wood. Each level bringing repetition; Annihilating competition. Two on and two out; Anticipation stepped to the plate. Wildly swung at three pitches that got there too late. Grey-templed reliever, “nothing” left in the tank; Last night served a sinker - that actually sank. Vilified by the fans that claimed him the reason; His first at-bat; a K; that cost them post-season. Long awaited debut, not how he thought it would be. Tonight would be different, he’d make them all see. Like scratching cockerel he digs in dirt, Looks up at hill; pride still hurt. Until last night, a can’t-miss “Phenom” Now feeling wrath of media venom. With gritted teeth, he squeezes maple tight, Stares down the pitcher, knuckles white. He watches ball one. Up and away. The next pitch released, he puts ball in play. A crack of the bat, sends flying splinters. Down dirt path he bounds like a sprinter. His foot slams down on dusty white sack, “The Next Big Thing” back on the right track.