The Best in the Gameby Robert Palazzo Born with a bat in his hand. Would become the best in the land. From coal miner's son, To Baseball's number one, He never did seem to understand. Blond and muscular was he. Oh, there was so much he could be. But injuries became him, No one could blame him. Certainly not you or me. Such skills he had on the field. But his weaknesses were soon revealed. He'd act and not think, Toast his friends with a drink. And his fate was virtually sealed. The nightclubs and parties were calling. At times the rowdiness was appalling. But he was having some fun, Not hurting anyone. But his health and conditioning were falling. As good times continued to roll, The nightlife was taking its toll. Not giving much mind to the cost, Most knew soon all would be lost. But he wasn't taking a poll. After all, what did he care? His days were numbered, he was aware. Male relatives on dad's side, Had lived to forty, then died. And no one was saying that was fair. Still gave the ball a ride. No one would take him aside, And tell him he couldn't play. Yet every day, He was dying inside. Muscles would ache, Sometimes hands would shake. He would drink away the pain, Without our hate or disdain. Excuses were ours to make. Sure he had flaws, Whatever the cause. And when indiscretion was revealed, As long as it was off the field, He was allowed many 'last straws'. The fans all admired him, Which must have inspired him. And fueled his inner drive, To perhaps stay alive, Until his body retired him. When that time came, And he could no longer play the game, He walked away with pride. But knowing inside, His life would never be the same. It was all such a change. Not playing ball felt so strange. Business ventures became sour, And he had not the power, To take control and re-arrange, The path his life was taking. And the bad decisions he was making. Where fans once adored him, He felt now they ignored him. Had they only been faking? No longer in the public eye, As each year passed by, He felt deep inside, Although alive, he had died. And he couldn't understand why. He no longer experienced the thrill, Didn't find it through drink nor pill. Nothing he did could replace it. He just had to face it, After all these years he longed for the fans still. He took to the road. His name he sold. Fans waited in line. Soon everything was fine. He didn't feel useless and old. He out-lived his dad. Could have lived longer if he had, Taken more care, To let his body repair. That's what was so sad. When his time came, Had only himself to blame. No doctor could save him. But we all forgave him. After all, he was once the best in the game. Leave feedback on our message board. |