The Giants sought to take the third game and add a final jewel in their crown for the weekend. The Phillies future stars snatched that jewel back with a scorpion like sting, leaving their foes in a tower of silence.
Imagine, if you will, a flat field fanning out from a single home, across which competitive commerce tracks pitches, swings, and steps, toward walls and seats ascending skyward but directed earthward, casting shadows within whose shade we find the outline of players and the idea of a game, of play. Enclosed from the horizon it is a landscape that rebukes the azure and ochre sky of the presummer afternoon with verdant sod that climbs up the kelly walls and embeds the coordinated artifice in the very earth out of which the sod can stubbly spring.