The Apotheosis of E. Kramer

He'd always been a consistent pitcher,

good for several strike outs if the kids
were prone to watch and not swing,
but maybe that underestimates him.
Starting in third grade he was known
for his accuracy if not his speed due
to his diminutive size among his peers.
At ten years old he had started to speed
things up a bit to outwit even the swingers.
But then he turned eleven and a capper
of sorts happened on the last game of
the season against a team with 12 and
13 year old giants as tall as his Dad.

He somehow found a new gear without
disrupting his affinity for the strike zone.
He was in his fourth straight inning of
pitching and the score was tied one all.
Bases were loaded with no outs in an
inning that looked to be a blow out.
Nine pitches were thrown, nine strikes
called, and parents from the opposing
team were grumbling about "fairness."
The catcher had called "time out" twice to
take off his mitt and shake out his hand.
It was the apotheosis of E. Kramer,
the shortest kid in the sixth grade.

***

I was working at the hospital today and missed my son's last game of the season.  I could have caught the last few innings, but instead I'd set up a family meeting to participate in an intervention with a patient that turned out to be one of the most fulfilling things I've done in my career.  I caught the fam at Dairy Queen afterwards where the coach was treating the team.  This poem came from information I gathered from my son, my wife, and his coach about what had transpired during the game.

***