by Stephen Jones
On the long, long IR line, of mostly
Pitchers early in the season,
You’re waiting to get into
MLB’s popular fragility club,
The club no one wants to join…
It’s your turn to flash the bouncer;
You show him your card with a picture —
It’s your elbow — and he looks,
Then declares: “What, another pitcher —
And a young one at that?” Then
He opines: “What’s with all you guys?”
You protest: “Hey, it’s not my fault.
Everyone’s always told me: Pitch harder,
Pitch faster — with more spin and torque!
I can’t help it if I’m young.” Words drift off.
The bouncer nods like a ballpark sage
Who’s seen it all, and thinks: “Don’t they
Know the human body has its limits,
Even when you’re young?”
But then he shrugs and lets you in.
