The fog rolled in on Yawkey Way,
Hope was taking a holiday.
The bottom of the ninth, three to zip,
Three more outs, and that would be it.
The Sox couldn’t hit, their bats were quiet,
They were like a large man on a sudden diet.
Dads grabbed their sons and started to leave,
Some clapped softly and tried to believe.
But you could tell by the limp and ugly sight
That this would not be the Red Sox night.
But a coach looked out from his dugout den
He had an Apple Watch message to send.
He’d take this crowd on a happy ride,
He’d look at his watch and turn the tide.
The other guy’s closer was nasty and mean,
One of the best players on their team.
He could throw a hundred and his curve was tough,
Could the Sox come back? It was gonna be rough.
The first batter stepped in, and what a sight,
The time was half-past fastball, and he ripped it to right.
The next man stepped in, filled with vim and verve,
He seemed to know that he’d get a curve.
He smashed it center, men on first and second.
The coach glanced at his watch to get the next lesson.
The watch said slider, the batter was ready,
He skipped it to left and the place was unsteady.
Fenway Park was rocking with a sudden joy.
The bases were juiced! Oh man! Oh boy!
The pitcher shook his head, couldn’t believe the sight,
How can every single batter guess right?
But he bore down hard, looked in for the sign,
And coach looked down to check the time.
The time was ten minutes ’till fastball, and the batter knew it,
The pitcher reared back with that ball and threw it.
In that bright moment the bat met the ball
And sent it screaming over the wall.
How’d the bats wake up after so long a rest?
The coach looked at his watch and said, “Just lucky, I guess.”


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