The Fall Classic

Aces on the mound, fire in their eyes,
Batters dig in as the tension starts to rise.
Crowds roar like thunder when the first pitch flies,
Dugouts buzz with strategy and hopeful sighs.

Every inning stretches, nerves pulled tight as wire,
Fans leap to their feet when the ball clears the entire
Giant outfield wall—a moonshot, pure desire.
Home-run heroes rewrite history in the mire

I of pressure only October can ignite.
Judges in blue keep the chaos just polite.
Key double plays erase the threat in sight,
Legends in the making step into the light.

Managers pace, arms folded, calculating odds,
Nationwide the nation watches, holding rods
Of anticipation—every swing, every nod.
Pitchers’ duels stretch long beneath the autumn sod.

Quiet falls, then explodes when runners score,
Relievers enter, shutting down the door.
Series tied, then tilted, shifting evermore,
Triumph waits for one team on the final floor.

Under stadium lights the last out’s sealed,
Victory’s champagne sprays across the field.
World Series champions lift the trophy, steel
X-tra innings finally done—the dream made real.

Years from now they’ll tell the tale again,
Zealous voices rising for the next season’s win.

Thank you for reading my poem, which is entered into Mike Singleton's October challenge: