October 5th, 2016
NL Wild Card Game
Giants Vs. Mets
Citi Field, Queens, New York


By Steve Hermanos



Bottom 8th,

Met Ty Kelley at second,
Two outs,
Dangerous Asdrubal Carerra liner—
Direct to Bumgarner’s glove,
Bumgarner pumps the bare fist, exulting,
In another October shutout;

He’s bound to the mound,
But he’s floating above the competition, the crowd,
Sucking in the Queens night air,
Avoiding takeoffs from LaGuardia,
Gazing down at the green-blue jewel in the gloom,
Gliding up above the air traffic,
The stratosphere,
Making silent eye contact with Christy Mathewson, Three Finger Brown, Rube Foster, Bob Feller, Bullet Joe Rogan, Walter Johnson, Jose Mendez (look ’im up!);

On to the 9th inning,
000 000 00,
000 000 00;

Jeurys Familia, the Mets closer,
51 for 51 in saves this season,
But fondly remembered in Kansas City for melting under pressure;
His face seems to indicate,
His underwear is moist;

Giants shortstop Brandon Crawford can get him,
And yes, Craw crushes a liner to the wall in left-center,
No outs;

Oh why, Mr. Bochy, why ask Angel Pagan to bunt?
Sergeant Angel who will take a hill under machinegun fire, solo;
Two fouls; three and two;
Slightly releasing Familia’s angst;

Come on Joey Panik,
In your hometown,
Wreck their night!
Fouling off the bat’s last millimeter,
Now a walk!
That kid’s tougher than upper Broadway circa 1977;

Oh Conor Gillaspie,
High far deep,
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Home run!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A bounce off the bullpen roof,
Smacking the eye of the Wise chip board;

Oh yeah we’re shouting like it’s six, four, two years ago!

T H R E E    R U N S;

Conor Gillaspie!

It’s quiet in Queens, and it’s never quiet in Queens;
Mets fan look like they’re witnessing the painstakingly-and-expensively-repaired family Mercedes,
Roll past the house hooked to a tow truck,
Bashed in once again;

At bat, Catfish Bumgarner cracks it high and deep to left—
Insult to injury?!—
No, caught at the fence;

Bummy’s stomping out to the mound again;


Cespedes popup to Pence;
Grandyman popup to Pagan;
A guy in the second row in a gray overcoat heading home;
TJ Rivera,
Strike one,
Foul ball,
Popup to Denard Span;

Don the champagne goggles,
The boys in orange are going to Chicago—
Don’t get me started!
But I’m started—
And brimming with thanks.

—end of poem



Conor Gillaspie
Hits one off the bullpen roof
Here we go again!


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