Another Red Sox Poem for Another Game Seven

Curt Schilling! I have seen the gutsiest arm of all generations ascend in majesty. His performance last night was the stuff of legend, and it was appropriate that he led the Sox towards a seventh game of the ALCS, something that no other team down three games to none in the post-season has ever been able to accomplish.

So tonight is the night. ALCS. Red Sox vs. Yankees. Game Seven. And all the king’s papers and all the king’s sportscasters will be trying to predict the outcome of tonight’s game with hundreds of thousands of words. But there’s only two that count.

A Schilling of Baseball Numerology

We witnessed seven innings pitched,
and marveled at his numbers thrown—
Game Six, one run, four hits, no walks
—while limping on an ankle sewn
together with some magic stitches,
surviving ninety-nine huge pitches.

So now we see the seventh sun
ascending in the thirteenth sky,
with ninety scribes, ten-thousand voices,
endeavoring to prophesy
which nine beneath the baseball heaven
will stay alive beyond Game Seven.

But the only words that count this fall
are just those two that say play ball!

Again the Mantra: one game at a time. Go D-Lowe!

(Happy Birthday, Em)

Update: see my complete Red Sox ALCS/World Series chapblog here.