A pitcher spends much time waiting. Waiting on the warm-up call. Waiting on the call to the mound. Waiting on the catcher's sign. When the call comes he heads to the mound all eyes upon him. Each pitch a work-of-art. No works-in-progress. Each batter an adversary to vanquish. Each swing . . . each crack of the bat . . . an unknown. Either the hero or the bum. That's the life of a pitcher. I know one. I understand his life. It IS the thrill of victory. It IS the agony of defeat.
I love the pitcher's life. Not because I am one, but because my life's work is like one. Waiting on the call. Waiting to respond. All eyes upon me. Adversaries to vanquish. Works-of-art. Often the hero, sometimes the bum. Unknowns. The risk. Willing to fail but always working to win.
Yea. I understand the pitcher. He's an artist. He's a warrior. Tough minded. Yea. I know the pitcher's life. I respect him. He lays it out there for all to see. In victory and defeat I love the pitcher's life. The pitcher is me.
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