I Got It!

By Lon Wagner with apologies to Ernest Thayer,
author of "Casey at the Bat."

The following poem appeared on the front page of The Virginian-Pilot in Norfolk Sunday, July 2. It is reprinted with the permission of the author and The Virginian-Pilot.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for a foul that summer day.
Ten thousand fans were waiting, 20 balls would come their way.
The pitching early was too good, the hitting way too poor.
It looked like a few tipped balls, some squibblers and nothing more.
Then flew an errant horsehide in the bottom of the first.
Returning from concessions, due to hunger and to thirst,
A man was sliding in his seat, when a loud "smack" came from near.
It startled and confused him when the ball splashed in his beer.
In the bottom of the third, the Tides hitters timed it right.
Richmond’s hurler lost control; was his arm becoming tight?
He let fly with a fastball that rose high as it neared the plate.
The batter swung, just nicking it, a little low and late.
It soared above the mesh, smacked a chair, careened and spun.
That’s when most fans saw it, and the mad dash had begun.
Mike Scott first spied it coming as a dot and nothing more.
The ball got bigger and bigger, then clattered to the floor.
He’d worn his mitt to Cubs and Sox and Tides games all for naught.
The Virginia Beach youth, wise at 14, had thought this a good spot.
What’s the big deal about a foul, could he please explain?
"It’s been in play," he said, "it’s like getting a piece of the game."
Several others tried to beat him, tried to become that lucky fan.
But across the seats behind home plate, Mike scrambled and he ran.
He grabbed it and he raised it, showed his mom and gave a shout.
So tonight there’s joy in Norfolk--Mike Scott has just lucked out.