Sometimes you get so caught up.
Spun so far around, that they're winding you up.
Coiling you into a speedball before they send you splitting the air,
Hitting the air before you're batted away.
The air whistling past you hard as you sail, airborne -
until you fall, burning a hole in the grass as you roll.
Resting there as the cheers sound, as the sound of pattering feet run,
and the dirt of the aftermath slides past you.
You were white before.
All stitched up with red markings, fresh -
and now, you rest.
Solid, but hit hard.
White, but dirty.
Whole, but ripping at your seams.
Yeah. Sometimes you get so caught up.
And they just wait for it.
Eyes narrowed, muscles clenched, teeth gritted and bats at the ready -
ready to make the home run.
Don't let them.