by Jennifer Schneider
in honor of the Women’s Professional Baseball League Draft—gems, in a league of their own.
 |
For the first time in history, women’s professional baseball players heard their names called in a Draft. The inaugural WPBL Draft on November 2025 was more than just a list of picks; it was be the moment when the league’s four founding teams took shape. The newly assembled teams will then begin preparing for the inaugural season. For the athletes, it will mean competing alongside—and against—the best players in the world. For fans, it’s the start of a new tradition: professional women’s baseball at a level never seen before. —WPBL |
The girl spends her days dreaming of diamonds.
The girl spends her nights playing the field.
The girl fields heavy hitters. The girl
catches sluggers. Of dingers and stingers
and grand-slam aces, the girl swings.
The girl hits as hard as she pitches.
She doesn’t care for cracker jacks.
She doesn’t bluff the crowd’s backs.
She doesn’t whistle at strikes.
She doesn’t negotiate the crows’ caw.
She doesn’t wait for a league to call.
She plays in a league of her own.
She plays the game she loves.
She loves her life.
She relishes full counts.
She balances balls like Jello.
She calculates the distance
from home at awkward angles.
She drives hard. She runs harder.
She’s strong. She’s tough. Tougher
than the Earth’s hardest, natural
mineral. She’s a natural gem.
A woman. A pioneer. A revolution
in motion. Fingers wrapped
around wood. She’s at home on the turf.
She’s got good eyes and a love of leather.
She prefers supple gloves, white pants,
and form-fitting helmets. She doesn’t need
a diamond on her finger. She hits her own home runs.
Of blisters, bloopers, and bleeders, she cleans–
she cleans the bases. Of manicured fields
and destination bleachers, the girl is a pro. The girl
is home, home at last–at the plate where the diamond
begins and where the diamond ends.
The girl spends her nights playing the field.
The girl fields heavy hitters. The girl
catches sluggers. Of dingers and stingers
and grand-slam aces, the girl swings.
The girl hits as hard as she pitches.
She doesn’t care for cracker jacks.
She doesn’t bluff the crowd’s backs.
She doesn’t whistle at strikes.
She doesn’t negotiate the crows’ caw.
She doesn’t wait for a league to call.
She plays in a league of her own.
She plays the game she loves.
She loves her life.
She relishes full counts.
She balances balls like Jello.
She calculates the distance
from home at awkward angles.
She drives hard. She runs harder.
She’s strong. She’s tough. Tougher
than the Earth’s hardest, natural
mineral. She’s a natural gem.
A woman. A pioneer. A revolution
in motion. Fingers wrapped
around wood. She’s at home on the turf.
She’s got good eyes and a love of leather.
She prefers supple gloves, white pants,
and form-fitting helmets. She doesn’t need
a diamond on her finger. She hits her own home runs.
Of blisters, bloopers, and bleeders, she cleans–
she cleans the bases. Of manicured fields
and destination bleachers, the girl is a pro. The girl
is home, home at last–at the plate where the diamond
begins and where the diamond ends.
Jennifer Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.
