She stands there, pausing for a second

"THROW THE BALL!" her angry father screams

Breaking through her uncertainty's fog

She tosses the ball to the pitcher

But it's too late; runner's made it home

She slowly walks up to the home plate

She takes a deep breath and holds bat up

I'm going to swing this time, she thinks

She watches as the ball flies to her

And then flies into the catcher's mitt 

"Strike one!" the ump yells seconds later

"Swing the bat!" her annoyed mother cries

Don't be scared, she tells herself. Focus.

She watches the ball, ready to swing

And now catcher has it; that's strike two

"DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO SWING?!" the girl hears

Come on. Just keep your eye on the ball!

She closes her eyes, then opens them

She's ready to give it one more shot

This one looks like a ball. I won't swing.

"And that's strike three! You're out!" the ump shouts

The girl turns her head to the bleachers

And sees her parents' disappointment

Salty tears start to well in her eyes

Suddenly, it's not fun anymore

Not after she saw the anger and

The disappointment in parents' eyes

Which brought tidal waves of shame to mind

What was once a source of joy for her

Has turned into an awful nightmare

Now that she's learned the horrible truth

That winning is much more important, 

Much more important than having fun

At least, that's the way it needs to be

To every parental spectator