For it’s 1, 2, 3…

Giants at Arlington, November 2010

It’s the bottom of the ninth.
My dad’s sitting at the best seat in town.
His black Eames Lounge chair: cushy.
An orange Giants T-shirt over
navy blue yukata: stretching.
KNBR announcers narrate: even and cool.

It’s the bottom of the ninth,
cusp of the first championship.
Foresight would only deflate.
The joy’s the anticipation.

Bottom of the ninth.
The pitch: a ball.
The pitch: a strike.

The beard.
The signs.

The pitch: sliiiider on the outside corner.
The tug. The cap.
The signs.

The pitch: a strike.
The signs.

The pitch: swing! And a miss.
The pitch: last out.

The win.
The mound.

My father, in heaven, is yelling out loud.

Baseball is stories remembering stories.
It’s the stories that bring you back.

It’s the stories that bring you back.
It’s the stories that bring you back.

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