Twins 8, Diamondbacks 3: Powered up

(Had a bit of an adventure in covering the game tonight…)

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Out in New England, a town we’ll call “Bristol,”

I was at home with the game on TV.

Nighttime had found me at home on the sofa

Ready to write what Monitto would see.

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Top of the first saw a dozing Monitto,

Larnach reached third but the lumber went slack.

During commercials it fast began raining;

Lightning soon flashed and the telly went black.

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Thunder was rumbling; no light would turn on,

Branches blew strong in the wind;

Losing the Wi-Fi with thunderstorms ride I

Sought fast a solution, my humor chagrined.

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As it rained there, I

Went for a light from my room up in “Bristol,”

Unplugged my laptop in case of a surge.

I switched to my cell phone in hope for a signal;

To cover this game was my singular urge.

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Then to my fortune, my phone caught the signal;

Quickly I flipped to the game as it aired.

Only had missed barely half of an inning;

Back to the site where more comments were shared.

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Top of the second, the bases were full,

Not a sole batter had gone.

Up came Miranda: a swing mighty grand, a

Shot clearing the bases – the rout it was on.

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Innings passed, and

The Twins, they all hit with the crack of a pistol;

Soon we had six runs with none for our foe.

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Out here in “Bristol,” the weather was mirthless;

Not so the offense alive in the West.

Five of our batters had hits in the plural;

All are the STUDS tonight, each is the best.

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(I’d better name them or else you’d get mad;

Two each for Willi and Trev;

Three for Santana, Correa, Miranda:

Clearly a night for their motors to rev.

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And the last of

The studs is the starter who shined like a crystal,

Gunning down batters with masterly ease.)

Only one DUD, and that’s Eversource Power:

Guys, fix the damn electricity, please!

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(Yes, I’m aware there are too many line breaks;

Can’t get it right when you type in your phone.

Give it a day and I’ll clean up the format;

Meanwhile we’re still in the powerless zone.)

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Oh, and the Comment, the Top of the Game:

It has to be Fillmore’s, I think.

Feeling so arty, he parodied Marty;

When I’ve got power, I’ll add in the link.

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But concluding

The game came as fast as a midsummer mist’ll:

Four bullpen arms not allowing a hit.

No need to score, not a bit or a trifle,

Leading by five when your pitching won’t quit.

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Now it is over, Monitto is sleepy.

(Call this a guide for pronouncing my name.)

Surely tomorrow’s another to rise for;

Meanwhile tonight, get some rest, and…

…good game.