I wished I had a brother

A sister would not play

The kind of games that I liked

Most any given day

The sort with real hard lines

Pitched at top rate speed

Those that burned the glove

And slid you to your knees

But mom threw a curve

And presented not a son

But a tiny little pink thing

Became my own

Strike one

I had to face this rival

Her uniform so new

Her style was just too frilly

Her feminine side so true

I could never understand her calls

Her signals were unclear

She was such an alien

She only liked to cheer

Her defense was offensive

She didn’t spit nor chew

She just drank up all the attention

Oh Mother umpire that’s

Strike Two

In time I grew to love her

This pageant queen my kin

I even saw her side sometimes

I quite often let her win

Now we run toward home together

Though such a different pair

She in shiny patent leather

Reflecting perfect heir

A striking contrast she is to me

A rose among a thorn

Like a diamond set in safely

Sliding past dust of this firstborn

If ever you might cross our field

And happen to my sister see

Don’t even think of fouling her

Oh Brother

I’ll hit you with

Strike Three