[jg2977]

They thought they could come into our house and leave with their heads still on.
The Stars didn’t score for seven innings. Not a scratch on us. We watched them swing and miss, over and over, until their shoulders sagged. When prey tires, that’s when you strike.
Jorge Sanchez struck first. In the second inning, a double set the table. In the third, he took Kunisada’s changeup and sent it into the deep, dark seats — three runs across, the air going out of Dallas’s lungs. They didn’t recover.

By the fifth, it was over. Another swing from Sanchez — a triple this time — and then Okuhara’s blade, a two-run shot that finished the work. We didn’t just beat them. We carved them apart. Every inning, another cut: MacKinnon’s speed stealing bases, Jaime’s single slicing through the infield, Miyake’s double breaking whatever pride Dallas had left.

They finally found two runs in the eighth, too little and far too late. You can’t outrun what’s coming for you.

Now the series is 3-1. One more game, and they’re gone. I’ve already written their name in my book. All that’s left is to cross it out.