Preparation for Next Year Begins Now

As we begin to prepare for next year I was looking at poems for preparation and I came across a dandy. Ella Wheeler Wilcox never played pro ball, probably never threw a baseball or swung a bat. She was born in 1850 and died in October 1919 (probably unaware of the White Sox throwing the World Series that year) and is most famous for her poem Solitude which has the famous line

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.

Pretty heady stuff.

But her take on preparation is pretty good as well. Read the poem. It lets you know that you cannot rush preparation, preparation is necessary and vital and she makes a good case for good things come to those that wait (and get busy getting ready).

Preparation is vital to baseball. All the things that will make you ready to succeed in the bottom of the 7th (or 9th, as we get older) are things that one can prepare for now and give oneself a better chance to come through when the lights are on and in the words of Dave Niehous; It's game time!


Preparation, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We must not force events, but rather make
The heart soil ready for their coming, as
The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,
Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost,
Prepares for Winter. Should a July noon
Burst suddenly upon a frozen world
Small joy would follow, even tho' that world
Were longing for the Summer. Should the sting
Of sharp December pierce the heart of June,
What death and devastation would ensue!

All things are planned. The most majestic sphere
That whirls through space is governed and controlled
By supreme law, as is the blade of grass
Which through the bursting bosom of the earth
Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor puny man
Alone doth strive and battle with the Force
Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone
Demands effect before producing cause.

How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joy
Until we sow the seed, and God alone
Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand
And watch the ground with anxious brooding eyes
Complaining of the slow unfruitful yield,
Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves
Keeps off the sunlight and delays result.

Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire
Doth like a sultry May force tender shoots
Of half-formed pleasures and unshaped events
To ripen prematurely, and we reap
But disappointment; or we rot the germs
With briny tears ere they have time to grow.

While stars are born and mighty planets die
And hissing comets scorch the brow of space
The Universe keeps its eternal calm.
Through patient preparation, year on year,
The earth endures the travail of the Spring
And Winter's desolation. So our souls
In grand submission to a higher law
Should move serene through all the ills of life,
Believing them masked joys.