What she wanted to do, was hit balls all day.
"But this is a man's game" is what they would say.
"You have talent yes, but to get to the top,
You need help through coaching to prevent a big flop.
This is a man's game of which you've started too late."
One in particular was first to recriminate:
A man of all games and all languages of word,
"This is not typical. Not preferred. It's completely absurd."
The man all the while getting red as a screaming truck,
And her sitting there thinking, Man I need a stroke of good luck.
"You playing this game?
Is like Britney's acclaim.
I can't see you making a name,
Or bringing you mass fame,
Like J. Geils: Freeze Frame.
You'll lose all your aim
And be just like any other dame."
He, like the others simply disagreed,
But how could she prove it with uncanny speed?
How could she convince those of no guru,
To believe and concede to her choice of tasteful taboo?
The things being said should have been a Blue's Clue,
After all, her dreams were as temporary as a henna tatoo.
Did good luck ever bend
For our ball-hitting lady friend?
We'll have to wait for post breakfast food,
peace. love. and To be Continued....
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