(6.04 No.61 — 162 Baseball Poems 2015)

By Steve Hermanos

Red Sox 4—Twins 4
Top of the ninth;

Joe Mauer bunts,
Brian Dozier races to third,
Catcher Blake Swihart grabs the ball, fires,
Low, at third baseman Pablo Sandoval—

Pablo, the man who forsake my Giants and me,
Pablo, who took the dough
and the New England flintiness
Over the laid-back love washed over him by San Francisco Bay—

Swihart’s throw,
At a target made by the upside-down V
Of Pablo Sandoval’s legs
And Mother Earth,
Enters ankle-high,
Zips into left field;

Dozier slides safe into third,
Pops up and scoots home
With the go-ahead run;
Pablo Sandoval hangs his head,
Just as he did a few innings earlier,
Javelining a throw over first base,
Into the Twins dugout;

Pablo Sandoval’s average is down to .239,
He’s hit 5 homers,
5 doubles;
Just 17 RBIs!
Hair-on-fire sportscasters and bloggers have badgered
The Sawx
Into forcing Pablo to sometimes abandon switch-hitting;

Are you having fun yet,
Pablo Sandoval?

(Red Sox 4—Twins 8)

—end of poem

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