Bat vs. Bat

0
142
Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I’m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.

My father taught me how to stand and swing a baseball bat. He knew that there was more to life than a horse and cowboy hat.

One night while batting at the plate, I couldn’t hit the ball. He said, “You’ve gotta change your stance if you wanna hit at all.”

He pushed me closer to the plate, my left leg just ahead. Then said, “Never rest your bat up on your shoulder by your head.”

And then he said, “Be ready. Keep your good eye on the skin. And soon you’ll see the stitches that the ball has been sewn in.

“Swing level, eye still on the skin, then watch the ball take air. With practice you can be the best ball-hitter anywhere.”

I practiced every day and learned to swing with all my might, in hopes that I might hit another home run for the night.

I can’t say I could hit the ball much better than the rest. But every time I swung the bat I gave it all my best.

Well, that’s been nearly sixty years … still have my baseball bat. And I won’t forget my dad’s advice was more than just a chat.

Two days ago, on Saturday, I heard my good wife scream. I panicked, maybe burglar or a mouse fell in the cream.

Thank heaven for no burglar and the cream without a mouse. But flying in our bedroom was a bat loose in the house.

I moved the two scared hostages, dog Daisy and my wife. Then grabbed my baseball bat for the bat’s battle of his life.

The lessons from my father and my baseball expertise would prove this scary bat’s dark life was on the shortest lease.

I felt just like Clint Eastwood, though I stood at 5-foot-3. I could hear the bugle playing, “The Good,The Bad and Me.”

The battle started in. The bat was flying straight my way. I took a swing and missed him by a mile, you could say.

Each time the bat came close enough I’d swing, then he would dart. They say a bat is blind, but makes me look like one old fart.

It didn’t take me long to see this bat was more than brave. So I opened up the window.  Let him fly back to his cave.

When asked if I had given that old bat a brand new start, I kept my big mouth shut and placed my hand next to my heart.