In this series I endeavor to capture the weekend’s action in the form of a sonnet. Shakespeare famously used this poetic form to express passionate feelings, often of love and lust, while I am using it to recap baseball games. Please don’t tell your high school English teacher.
At Friday’s close, an hour later than norm,
A one-time ace ‘neath the lights of the lone-star,
Lonely, starless, far from his past form,
Threw pitches which moved little, but traveled far.
Sev’rino soared in place of lost hits,
‘Til one rookie rose to deliver the loot,
The speed-man returned to the role he had missed,
A closer, perhaps, for whom ‘tis hard to root.
Upon Sunday’s dawn woke slumb’ring lumber,
Bombs, delivered via youthful faces:
Sanchez, then Judge, each twice making thunder,
Yet when the dust cleared, no one had changed places.
A weekend of toil, blasts, sweat, and struggle,
Still stuck in the mire of that wild card bubble.