Excitement burbled among the masses
As they crushed through the turnstiles
In their off-the-rack jerseys and faded caps.

Pewter clouds teared, tarp blanketed the field,
Not a single pitch was thrown out on this semi-religious holiday.

But fans' spirits were hardly dampened by the rain delay.
The game would be played later,
And something had changed in the air.

Win or lose,
Cowhide slapped into leather.
The odor of sausages wafted off the grill.
Bats cracked hopefully,
Electricity crackled through the bleachers.

That old ballpark magic
Conjured enough ambiance
To swallow a lazy summer whole.