Similar to the wave on the ocean shore, gradually uncoiling-
then drawing back into the blue abyss;
Fall rolls in, while Summer gradually recedes.
October is the season, for Halloween,
for Yankee Championships.
Game 3's telecast, brought to us by the latest action
film "Ninja Assassin."
The names this time around reflect a league, rich and diverse,
Jeter, Matsui, Posada, Cano, Burnett, Rivera
What was so simple about, the names of old?
Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle, Rizzuto, Mattingly
The stadium overflows, as the crowed morphs into a
single pin-striped organism.
The Yanks lead the series, two games to none.
Anaheim, warms up like rabid wolves, preparing for a
harsh and unforgiving winter/off season.
New York has not been defeated,
in this post season.
The Angels have no lost a series, to the Yankees,
in a long time.
Competition and grit flow from the players pores,
like animal pheromones before a life and death struggle.
Seeds grind, and fly through the air,
in a V formation amidst a mizzle of tobacco juice and sports drinks.
A rotund bench coach, yells "at'ta boy",
as the unshaven veteran to his right wraps his tobacco with bubble
gum, shoving the concoction between his cheek and teeth.
A tall figure stands on the mound, a statue at center stage,
motionless as he watches the opposing hitter enter the batters box.
Swiftly, the pitchers scoops the resin bag, tossing it in the air,
the chalk dust creates a glow from the glare of the stadium lights,
Just then the "blue" behind the plate shouts "PLAY BALL", a roar
erupts from the stands, and the game begins once more.