...I was taking one for the team,
striding to the mound,
my arm hung limply by my side.

I had one throw left.

Bases loaded, no outs,
bottom of the nineteenth,
we're up four to three.

We needed a triple play.

The "gyro",
a mythic pitch born in the Far East,
was lost on these semi-pros,
in this godforsaken sandlot.

I was going to have to pull the string,
like I've never pulled before.

This was going to acquire,
The Theory of Everything,
known in physic circles,
as T.O.E.

As I mentally entered the eleventh dimension,
I "toed" the rubber,
spun in synchronous orbit,
reversed time back to the singularity,
let loose the ball,
my arm exploded with pain,
a brilliant burst of light blinded the batter,
he flailed awkwardly at the pitch.

Time struck back,
the ball screamed past my out-stretched glove,
up the middle,
the shortstop moving toward second,
grabbed the line drive,
stepped on second,
threw to first.

Triple play.
Game over.