The bases are loaded
as he steps to the plate.
What he does in these minutes
may decide the game's fate.

Swiftly he wipes
the sweat from his hands,
And sneaks a quick look
at his Mom in the stands.

The pitcher winds up -
lets go with the ball.
The umpire yells, "STRIKE!"
as his hopes start to fall.

But, no need to worry;
he's got two more tries.
He knows he can do it
as tears fill his eyes.

He chokes back the tears
and with a toss of his head,
Tries to recall
all the things the coach said.

The wind up - the pitch.
"STRIKE TWO!" cries the ump.
Gosh, but he's choking
on that terrible lump.

He wishes for home
and his own little bed,
Just to pull all the covers
up over his head.

But, no time for that now;
he knows he must play.
His team holds its breath;
can he save the day?

Maybe he'll get hit,
and fall in the dirt.
Enough for a walk,
but nothing to hurt.

He looks at the pitcher
standing proud on the mound,
And wishes he'd sink
straight into the ground.

But, that will not happen,
no, not any way.
He's doomed to strike out
on this terrible day.

He thinks of his Mom;
how she's always right there.
He knows that she'll hug him
and brush back his hair.

She'll tell him it's only
a game - it's just play,
And not to pay heed
to what others may say.

The pitcher steps back;
looks to his right,
And before he can swallow,
the ball is in flight.

It seems to just hover
as if it has wings.
It rises, it falls,
does all kinds of things.

He swings; he connects;
a long drive to the right.
Straight down the baseline -
not a fielder in sight.

The lump goes away
as he crosses third base,
And all of the fans
share the smile on Mom's face.

He knew he could do it;
he'd never a doubt.
He just wanted to show 'em
The Kid Never Strikes Out!

- Charles Edwards Moss

Note from the author:
"This poem was written when my youngest son, Todd, was just starting to play little league baseball. The poem was inspired by "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest L. Thayer

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