Beyond what I could see of the ballpark, they was the players in they rought wool suits. The people in the stands wearing there Sunday best. In was any day game, at the Grounds.
Someone came to the plate. The crowd soared. I could see that the Giants’ line were ready for him.
The slow, slow windup. Struck. Another batter. This time the batter made the ball popup. Eyes on it.
Me and the boys waited. WAITED. I, we couldn’t look. Silence. . . . Then the Grounds turned into lovely Bedlam.
The Giants crumbled.
We won. WON!