Lyrical Logic

The hot summer sun
The weight of the gear 
The sweat smell from the helmet.
The things you love about the game. 
Most people call you crazy, 
Who would want that extra heat? 
But for you, 
It's the perfect way to play. 

Evaluating the entire field. 
The batter stepping up to the plate.
Down into position. 
Glove in the middle of the strike zone. 
Here comes the pitch, 
Strike one. 
Swing and a miss. 

People in the crowd are speaking, 
Probably cheering on the pitcher and the batter.
You drown it out, 
You need to focus. 
Back into that squat. 
Batter back to the plate. 
Here comes the pitch.
You hear the bat and the ball connect,
Ball is in the air, 
Foul ball down the third base line. 
Strike two. 

Your teammates seem awake now.
Starting to move, 
Preparing for the ball to come to them.
Your pitcher looks tired, 
You lift up your helmet,
Give her a small smile. 
She nods. 

Back down into position.
Helmet down.
Your glove a little higher than normal,
But ready for the last pitch. 
Here it comes,
But wait,
The ball hits the bat. 
She swung? 
You can't find the ball,
Your pitcher is pointing up.
You flip the helmet off, 
Searching, 
It's behind you.
Shove the umpire out of the way,
You're going to have to dive. 
Do it,
Now.
Or you won't catch it.
You're on the ground, 
The ball hits your glove,
And you snap it shut. 
Holding on for dear life.