I believe in the underdog.

I believe in the underdog. I do not believe in the kid who showed up to play in the brand new uniform with his glove glowing yellow brown and clean.

And no dirt on his shoes. And he had a supercilious grin. Cause he always got to start whether he came to practice or just came to the game.

I believe in the hustler. No not that kind. The kind who ran out every groundball to get to base because he was suppose to. Because it made his team believe. Because one day there would be a bad throw and he would stand on second.

I believe in the teammate who patted you on the back if you dropped the fly ball; if you threw the fourth ball; and who told you to make sure you tag up on a sacrifice.

I believe in the love of the game. Not played for the autograph. Not played for the statistics. Or the spread. Not played for the television. Not played for the money or the agent or the car.

I believe in the game because the other guy showed up to play with a heart of a child and the will to win. I believe in the game because it doesn’t care who I am. Or how many I’ve won. Or if I am rich. Or. Or. Or. Or. It doesn’t care that I am an underdog. In fact, it doesn’t notice, at all. It only cares that I cannot ask it for anything but a chance. Just a chance.

And that is why the game lives.

-Albert Turner Goins