They seem the only twosome in the game,
Answering toss with throw and catch with curve.
Their intercourse makes them about the same,
Though one on bended knee seems there to serve.
The other on the mound gets all the press.
One deals and one receives. They seem content
In their assigned positions, more or less,
A ritual by mutual consent.
The pitcher's artistry of strike and ball,
Incites the crowd to cheers or groans and boos.
The catcher seems to matter not at all.
The pitching effort makes them win or lose.
The catcher's a forgiving, patient sort.
The pitcher makes more money. But the hitch is,
Until you really get to know the sport,
You'd hardly guess which one calls all the pitches.