"Ain't you got no heart, boy?"
- Dino DiMino, Al's pitching coach
There. It's there, he knows, just below his right
hand I pledge allegiance to the flag
there under skin and bone, caged tight
in the prison of his ribs, a heavy bag
of muscle, a ham-pink fist punching away
in his chest, a heavyweight contender under
God indivisible, no quit in this baby,
none, no way will Al Stepansky ever
give up. He'll go the distance, give you
nine innings of flat-out goddamn great
ball, wring his guts out, tear his soul in two
trying to show up those rubes at the plate,
goddamn dying to prove he's the best,
a winner, prove to you he's got a heart.
Sort of Gone
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