Mets 6, Braves 3. Curtis Granderson smacked a solo homer and a grand slam to put us far over the top. Even the Braves’ late game rally couldn’t surmount the Grandy Man’s RBIs.
Cut from steerhide and stitched together
with catgut laces and horse-hoof glue,
oiled and tied shut and baked in an oven
to shape the pocket, then beaten with a mallet,
a stick, a bat, fastball after fastball,
and the pocket stretches and deepens
where the ball snaps the mitt shut,
caught in the webbing between fingers and thumb,
the crosshatch of fine tanned leather
that learns your muscle memory, the way
your hand reaches mid-dive for a line drive
and how the leather, now a part of you,
snatches the ball out of the air, robs the hitter.