The Crack of the Bat - Oct 30 2024

The Crack of the Bat

Oct 30 2024



In a crisp fall 

the crack of the bat

has a solid thunk;

the hard knock

of a tightly wound ball

on maple or ash,

the satisfying thwack

of leather on wood.

When the fat part of the bat

is hit squarely

there's a a clean sound

a sure finality.

The sweet spot

there's no mistaking.

A baseball fan

knows this sound by heart.

Hearing it again

well struck

recalls the storied greats,

the moments

captured like photographs

when greatness happened,

and the rush

when with one swing of the bat

the gut-busting suspense

was all at once released;

the instant relief

nearly ecstatic.

I suspect I’m not speaking to you,

who finds the sport slow

season long

rules arcane;

over all, a lot of pointless waiting.

Who sees the tradition

and reverence for history

as too self-important

for what's merely a game,

the fall “classic”

more readily forgotten

than etched in posterity.

But the cognoscenti know better.

Even the sound of the bat is stirring,

no matter the score

or even the team.

It recalls the golden falls of playoff ball,

memories

distilled by time

until only the good ones remain;

the selective forgetting

essential

to the uncluttered mind.

It’s a cool evening

beneath an indigo sky

a bit before the stars appear.

The manicured field

under bright stadium lights

is a jewel

on a black velvet bed;

brilliant green

in the dark sea of night.

There’s no mistaking the smell.

Pretzels

oven-fresh,

lukewarm beer

spilled from flimsy cups,

and hot dogs

in soggy buns

with bright ballpark mustard.

Then the crack of the bat,

the dash to first,

and the crowd, rising as one;

all eyes

turned to the heavens

to track the ball,

hands

clutched by their mouths

as if in prayer.

Will the brisk autumn air

dense with cold

stop the ball short,

or will it fly

in a perfect arc

over the fielder’s head

and score the go-ahead run?

In a game of failure

where you’re out, more often than not

you either learn how to fail

or give up the game

for something easier.

And in a game

where even the greats whiff, wild pitch, butcher a catch,

slip on the grass,

or miss the cut-off man,

who knows how it will end;

up against the fence

or in the glove?

But it was solid, that crack.

So we watch,

holding our breath, and urging it on;

as if our thoughts

projected as one

could suspend the law of gravity

if we just hoped hard enough.