With the start of the first inning
as the wind whistled through the tree’s
Our shortstop had his shoulder broke
and the fates blew in on the breeze
This team was a thorn in the side
of the Harding Presidents Club
It was on this night my son Tate
was scheduled to play as a sub
The kid pitching for North Union
hurled a cooking heater down field
You could hear that freight train coming
as it’s hide was ’bout to be peeled
Their coach then rallied his talent
pressing their shoulders to the wheel
like natives dancing ’round a fire
driving devils who’d struck a deal
A death defying mid-air, catch
the bounding, ball tossed on the run
The Devil was in town this night
riding in on the setting sun
They dove and slid then nearly flew
as if the angels rode their backs
While running bases half possessed
plowing the field with cleated tracks
,
The dice kept coming up seven
and oh prophetically so
When the sun had finally set
the score was seven to zero
Come ye fathers follow your child
through the tough times every one
For the oft chance will someday come
when they will have finally won
