The Heavenly Game

Cheer on the hometown nine
While you lay on the sloping grass
Of a meadow in mid-May.

Listen to the crack of the bat
While you play among the fallen leaves
In the October twilight.

Thrill to the sound of horsehide
Slapping against leather
While your kids thrill
To the chill
From an open fire hydrant.

Doesn’t the heavenly game
Make you sigh deeper,
Smile wider,
And step livelier?

You can’t make snow angels
During a pitching change.

No one ever built a log fire
While the manager squabbles
With an umpire.

And whoever heard of a perfect game
Surrounded by holly and ivy
And the bright lights of Christmas?

April through October—
These are the days of heaven.

April through October—
These are nights that fill the soul.

The days of the heavenly game
Are the greatest days of all.