And
so the last of the leaves find their peace creating a brown –red- orange –
yellow quilt of remembrance on the fields of the boys of summer. Random
gatherings at food stores and post offices hundreds of miles from the diamond cathedral
in the town where freedom was born are faithful exiled pilgrims in humble
celebration and gratitude. The
multitude of stories and congratulatory smiles of victory raises them from
their daily travails. One pilgrim coated in his adopted city’s armor is saluted
by strangers at almost at every stride.The significance of these greetings reaches
into his core like some conformational holy spirit.
Just
one victory is just what these wanderers desired. It was cosmic. Though
Beelzebub’s mark remains, the burning leaves ashes and smoke of redemption rise
up sanctifying the pilgrims. Jubilant natives convene at the blood stained
finish line with collective whispers of their hallelujah hymn. That season that
was, that time is done and as new one is being born .The circle of life
complete.
The
confidence and determination of a group of crusading players were aware that
their mission was more than winning a game or reclaiming a ring. Church bells
ring out “Jerusalem!” in this New
England town as the duck boats are readied to be launched into the waters
carrying the bearded crusaders down the dirty water waving to the adulating
liberated throngs. A great sigh rises up ...
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Game Called
Game Called by darkness — let the
curtain fall.
No more remembered thunder sweeps the
field.
No more the ancient echoes hear the
call
To one who wore so well both sword and
shield:
The Big Guy’s left us with the night to
face
And there is no one who can take his
place.
Game Called — and silence settles on
the plain.
Where is the crash of ash against the
sphere?
Where is the mighty music, the refrain
That once brought joy to every waiting
ear?
The Big Guy’s left us lonely in the
dark
Forever waiting for the flaming spark.
Game Called — what more is there for us
to say?
How dull and drab the field looks to
the eye
For one who ruled it in a golden day
Has waved his cap to bid us all
good-bye.
The Big Guy’s gone — by land or sea or
foam
May the Great Umpire call him “safe at
home.”
- Grantland Rice
amdg
