The game

I love the game.

I love the game more than tanning, more than string cheese, more than pudding, more than you, more than me, more than anything.

Because of the lights; the lights that beam on my face when the sun goes down and I can look up, and around and I can feel the heat of those massive lights, telling me that it's game on.

Because of the atmosphere; the atmosphere that keeps me screaming, and shouting, and spouting out ridiculous songs that I'm going to remember for the rest of my life, reminding me why I'm there.

Because of the dirt; the dirt and the way it feels when I have to slide to catch that insane hit, or the way it feels in my hands when I'm forced to step on that mound and face the batter, crumbling between my fingers, letting me know I belong.

Because of the pressure; the pressure that I put on myself, that I control, that I feel when I see a ball coming straight for me, and there's no one else around, when I get up to bat and my hands are sweating in my gloves, anxious and nervous for that perfect hit, beckoning me in every time.

Because of the perfection; the perfection that comes when the lights and the atmosphere and the dirt and the pressure are all aligned together just right, and I get goosbumps up my arms because I'm in the zone, and it's no longer 'the game';
It's my game.