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Sign Stealing photo

I know the game has passed me by
when I’m more interested in the scandal
     than the sport.
I no longer know who’s in first or last place,
but through my personal losses, I’ve learned how
to let go and lose with humility
and grace.
But today there is intrigue in the revelation that 
the batters wore wires taped to their chests
beneath jerseys identifying the city
they repped.
There is disappointment in the way their bodies were
privy to each pitch
by some videoman in a hallway who buzzed them
     once for fastball,
     and twice for off speed,
a stolen code alerting to the curveballs
life throws. 

Because knowing the velocity of an object
headed towards you
doesn’t teach you how to live during dry seasons of
a swing and a miss.

I will marry my fiancée in a few months
and that is a pitch I never saw coming
because even the most sophisticated
technological advances
couldn’t have alerted me
that my next at bat after my divorce
wouldn’t be the final time I was able to
spit in the ground,
dig into the box,
and stare the pitcher down as if he knew
I’d be ready.
no matter what he threw.


image: Jay Kovacs