“One of the hardest things in life to accept is a called third strike.”
-- Robert Frost (1874-1963)
Whose field this was I used to know
But that was many years ago--
No one will see me stopping here
To practice batting in the snow.
The Mudville fans would think it queer
To swing a bat without a sphere;
Have they forgotten what an ache
Has trailed that game of yesteryear?
Since '88 I've lain awake
At night to ponder my mistake--
To wait on one I could drive deep?
Perhaps a bender I could rake...
The snow falls where the wind will sweep,
Regrets are wasted while we weep;
So while I swing, the town's asleep,
And still I swing though all must sleep.
With apologies to Robert Frost and thanks to George J. Heer, who inspired and required it!
Children playing baseball in the snow, 1956
“When I was young," said Robert Frost, "I was so interested in baseball that my family was afraid I’d waste my life and be a pitcher. Later they were afraid I’d waste my life and be a poet. They were right.”
He also wrote: “Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.”
Robert Frost playing baseball at the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference, Vermont, 1940's