The Big Hitter

Limericked Fun on a Real Home Run

"Baseball is ninety percent mental,
and the other half is physical."
Yogi Berra
American Baseball Catcher and Coach
(1925 - )

A backstop ornament co-ed
In elementary phys. ed. -
She couldn't hit
Or use her mitt;
Unpicked and overlooked instead.

They'd hit the diamond to play ball,
And every student, one and all,
Who loved the game -
No fear of shame -
Awaited captain's welcome call.

At last, the choices would be made:
One player left; didn't make the grade.
The scrawny brain
Would face disdain,
As gym coach would insist she played.

Each turn at bat, she never ran.
For, sadly, every pitch she'd fan.
"Strike three!" they'd yell,
Clear as a bell.
Her confidence was in the can.

She'd trudge to outfield with a frown
And cower, her defenses down.
Athletics class
Would slowly pass
Till time to leave would come around.

The bell would ring its sweet retort,
And off to class she would report.
As jocks would strut,
Her feelings cut,
For they of her would oft make sport.

Still, she was smartest of the lot -
A miracle of higher thought.
Disparate marks,
Despite their barks -
One day, she outsurpassed their haught.

Her reinforcement came at last.
She graduated top of class.
And in her speech,
She did beseech,
As sporty bullies failed to pass.

Today, those field stars, true to style,
Field telemarketers and file.
Their captain, she,
Their boss, you see -
Calls all the shots with winning smile.

- - - - - -

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