Arroyo plunks ARod right on the arm.
ARod’s enraged, though the pitch did no harm.
ARod starts shouting, “That was intended!”
Arroyo replies back, “Don’t be offended.
The pitch got away. It was not at all planned.
The ball merely slipped right out of my hand.”
Says ARod, “Yeah, right. Any bridges to sell?
I do not believe you. You can go straight to” Varitek cuts off this long conversation:
“Mr. Rodriguez, I see your frustration,
But would you be kind now, and go take your base?”
ARod shouts, “Shut up, punk! Outta my face!
I’ve heard enough of this dumb Boston bunk!”
Varitek asks, “Who you calling a punk?”
ARod points moundward, shouting, “Punk? You!”
And also to Varitek, “You’re a punk, too!”
The reply: “You seem tense! Did you get enough lunch?
Here’s a nice knuckle sandwich and a cupful of punch!”
ARod and Varitek fight to the ground
Players flood toward them from everywhere ’round
As if a dam of sanity had burst and dementia was now surging through and
and grabbing on to each other and
each other in a big jumble between home plate and first base
and you can’t really tell who is who because there’s
like sixty people all heaped up clustered together
some smashing together some separating each other and all
scratching and clawing and ripping pulling pushing piling
jammingsquishingnudgingpokingelbowingjostling
across the scene and for some inexplicable reason he jumps onto
gabe kapler and puts him in a choke hold and then david ortiz sees this
and tries to pull sturtze off of kapler, but he cannot because sturtze
has a really good grip on kapler, but ortiz does manage to get sturtze and kapler
onto the ground
near the dugout
and then kapler manages
to escape the choke hold
of sturtze
and finally
breathe again
sometimes, when the world seems too intense,
a small, human sacrifice
is what it needs–
a madness to stop the madnesses,
a hurt to stop the hurts.
A trail of blood
oozes down the face of Tanyon Sturtze,
and the game proceeds.