Once I began, there was no turning back.
Each day, I'd leave the school and walk outside
To a "portable", a classroom-sized shack
Where the fourth graders learned to long divide.

That summer, I saw numbers every day
In the newspaper. My love for them led
Me to the game that made them through its play.
And I became a fan, each update read.

There were falls when I rose before the sun.
Stargazing, I would catch the high school's bus
To go to math class in its hour one
Then descend to the middling, like "us".

"We" placed our trust within the phenom of
That season, and the phenom of the year
That I met baseball and gave it my love.
It wasn't enough, though we made it near.

I ran out of math classes as I should
Have known. Drive to a college? Stay and take
A less challenging course? At times, it would
Be frustrating. It was for the sake

Of who I used to be, however. Does
That child's chance at being challenged count
More than my ease today? I think it was
The right choice, by some undefined amount.

When the dust cleared, I never felt remorse
Though I avoided, say, applied ballistics.
I didn't sign up for the hardest course,
But I think of home runs hearing "statistics".

To love and lose, or not? I'll never know.
But leave loss to those old enough for truth.
And let love go to whom it needs to go-
The complex-minded prodigies of youth.

How would it feel to fall if you could fit
Within a raindrop? It's a long way down
On such a scale. But when at last you hit
The street, you just explode into the town.

Another season came and went. They stop
And go each year, but never quite this way.
Another champion comes out on top
When we return to the last field of play.

The rain will soon give way to winter's snow.
Reality will storm, our bubble will
Be distant. But what comes and stops will go
And go again. The seasons rotate still

Each bringing some dramatics no one knew
Would happen, every year with something new.