Casey Jones - 1998
My chant is the pumping of adrenaline as the ball comes near
I am nothing but a mind in a mitt
My chant is the out at first, a runner sliding home in a pickel
I am the wall that protects third base, though out of rubber I might be made
My chant is big D no E, three up, three down
I am the megaphone, on the organ playing full blast
My chant is down in the dirt, do I slide or dive?
I am the signs of hit and run, the ump yelling foul ball
My chant is up in the air, flying into center, I've got it!
I am the bat, hard as a rock and ready to swing, I flinch as the impact occurs
My chant is over the far left wall, just down the third base line
I am the crowd that cheers with glee, teammates out of the dugout huddle the plate
My chant is the score keeper in the bottom of the 7th, the winning run crosses the plate as the home team calls the game to a stop
I am the vast empty field, the old chalk scattered and smeared
I am the lonely scoreboard that stands dark and empty, memories of a has been and the anticipation of a will be
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