This is a poem of my earliest recollections of playing Baseball in San Francisco's Police Activities League and what I learned.




The early morning fog hovers over wet blades of fresh cut grass, the yellow sun above turns to baseball, the game I love.

That smell of cut grass, takes me back to the past to when the morning dew kicked off little cleats, where the raked infield dirt and crisp white chalk lines meet.
In the end what remains are the shoe impressions left in sand and clay, marked in chalk-mixed dirt of all the tiny running feet in play, where we gathered to compete that day.

We ran to bases, all around the City, in so many places, we played many Teams on fields full of dreams, with so many different faces.

Ran to first, second, third base and dove into the plate head first ~ "Safe!!!"
The winning run!!!

Shining like diamonds sparkling in the Sun. We Are The Champions, The Winner Takes It All, Glory Day's...We Will Rock You...,"Rally caps on!!!" The secret of how we Won.
We love to win and hate the loss~ A bad throw, bad hop, picked off, wild pitch, "that's enough~ pull the plug".
But get rained out~ "Ahh Humbug!!!"
Better to play than not to play at all.
"Play Ball!!!"

The greatest loss of all to
face, is that last day of practice and the fall from grace~
The clouds cover the Sun, the Coach's speech about College Baseball & dream's of the Pro's is done.
Look at it this way,
how fortunate you've been to be a part of the greatest game ever played.

When I smell the fresh cut grass, nostalgia of white fog hovers above,
when the sun burns it off, to play Baseball, the game I love.

Randy Chavez


In Loving Memory of Police Activities League (SF * PAL) Commissioner Mrs. Williams, who showed many kids how to play.



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© RandelllMalavida!!!