“Fever Pitch..”

Bottom of the ninth

I’m up 2-0.

You’re up to bat.

Strike one, give up.

You’re weak.

Strike two, lie.

You cheat.

I was at home plate,

Got an automatic walk;

I was injured, crippled.

But, I got back up.

I threw you a slow pitch;

I let you back in the game.

You threw the bat, caught the ball

and threw it to 1st base.

“Its all over now,” you said.