Inning number one was just pure joy.
Playing tee-ball and coach pitch, as a little boy.

Inning number two was filled with learning.
Being put in game situations that made your stomach start churning.

Inning number three was your freshman year.
It was the first time you truly felt the crowd cheer.

Inning number four was that first year moved up.
Where seniors looked at you like some little chump.

Inning number five was the trip to the championship round.
And no matter where you went, you were known all across town.

Inning number six is where you left home for college.
Where the pitchers were so good, you couldn’t hit anything solid.

Inning number seven it’s time to stretch,
Your arm right out and sign the contract.

Inning number eight you were finally in the show.
Where records were broken,
Pennants were won,
And you swore strike three was low.

Inning number nine was the end of the road.
You told the doctor to let you play but he just said no.
The arm had thrown too many throws,
And the knees were blown out,
You knew without a doubt,
It would just be so hard for you to go.

The Lonesome Inning now occurs and you’re sitting at home,
Talking to old teammates on the telephone.
You talk about this and you talk about that,
But not one single memory, would be as good as one last at-bat!