By Stephen Jones
Yankee Stadium – a heat wave is shimmering.
It’s July and baseball. The air is oppressive –
thick, almost strangled – on the field and off.
But the fans are loyal. They are as thick as
cotton candy in the sun-bleached stands.
It’s Sunday, Game 3 against the O’s.
Will the surging Yankees sweep?
(Of late, before the break, they’re playing
winning baseball with every-inning effort.)
The game seesawed, the play well-matched.
The 9th inning arrived like clockwork
and expectations rippled through the seats.
The stadium air felt lighter, less stagnant,
as if by an off-shore breeze freshened.
Mariano Rivera had taken the mound.
But like a great wave fan expectation crested
far too soon. It broke, crumbled. “The Sandman”
had blown a second save this year. He watched,
mouth open, as a homer sailed over center field.
The air which had been held suspended fell.
It collapsed in the stadium in disbelief.