This appeared in the anthology, Days Of Future Past
Ballin' The Jack
Eyes closed,
The mind paints pictures.
Hands caress the bat.
Batter up!
The ball is pitched.
The bat kisses the ball.
Up, up it glides.
Down, down it smoothly comes.
Bases.
First, second, third, steal home.
The crowd erupts.
You open your eyes.
The crowd is gone,
You are alone.
--R.A. Melos