This is in reply to dajafi's poem about tonight's epic game. It is a short poem so this sentence only serves to get me over the 75-word limit. There.

Game 4

Santa Ana winds  

swirling above Chavez Ravine  

rendered to embers  

the familiar scripted houses  

of mass-broadcast, supposed-to-be fame.

When it all burned clean  

Left standing was the bearded guy 

Substantial; well traveled

Coining the new currency  

of fame. Redemption.     

Honest earning. Of hard luck turned.

The ball carried deep to right. In this new America   

It has yet to land.