White Sox
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When I was a young man, I loved to play baseball,
I mostly played sandlot ball with the neighbors and all.
This poem describes the one year I played baseball,
In the little league with an umpire making the calls.
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White Sox
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When I was 13, I was on a Borger little league baseball team,
We were called The Barney’s Pharmacy White Sox it seems,
We had some nice gray uniforms, and the team really did shine,
With blue lettered ball caps and long white sox that were just fine.
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We practiced on Wednesdays after 5 PM in the afternoon,
Since the coaches had jobs and could not get there to soon.
We worked hard in practice, but we never got too good,
But we did have fun playing like all young boys should.
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Our games were on Saturdays, and we just loved to be there,
On the field playing hardball like Mickey Mantle, and Yogi Berra.
At 13, I was a small boy, smaller than most of the other guys,
But I could hit that ball and throw the ball and make it fly.
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Because the other teams were just blessed with big boys,
Our record for wins was at five hundred but not by choice.
We played our little hearts out with our parents cheering us on,
And before we knew it the game was over and we headed home.
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Many times at the games the parents would curse at the umpires.
Since they wanted their boys to win before the game expired.
Sometimes we watched the parents act like real stupid fools,
Instead of playing the ball game which wasn’t too cool.
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The highlight of my little league career was a no hitter game,
I had pitched a no hitter and the last batter had been named.
Their heavy hitter was up and I let out a really big sigh,
I threw my hard ball low and ever so slightly to the inside.
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He took a big cut which went over the ball by at least six inches,
That worked so well I threw the same pitch again and he didn’t flinch.
The umpire called it a strike and I just had one more strike to go.
I heard a parent yell throw that high fast ball and let’s win this show.
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I wound up and let my high hard fast ball head straight to the plate.
The batter took his best swing and swung way under, it was great.
I had thrown my first no hitter and boy did the team celebrate,
I felt like a hero with everyone patting my back until it was late.
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My Dad told me on the way home that he was proud of his son.
I think this meant more to me than all the cheers by everyone.
I felt so good all night long and I never even went off to sleep,
Thinking about our victory with me pitching to that last creep.
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By Bill
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Thanks for reading White Sox,
Bill