Prose on the Subject of a Joseph Gallo Homer.

I tend to do my best to stay away from the flowery prose of my youthful fictions, especially in the spotlit world of baseball. Turns of speech-like phrase have their place, but not when attempting to describe the future proclivities of a middle reliever to the world, especially when one is not paid by the word, or even by the average length of words one uses.

There are some occurrences, however, that call for every bit of flamboyant language I still have left in my soul. Watching a 20-year-old hit a baseball 450 and more feet may not seem, to the average reader, like one of those occasions, but it so very is.

To watch Joey Gallo hit a baseball out of a park is to watch ever-improving poetry in motion. It is to watch controlled violence, awareness, and sheer gut-wrenching power put into action, with the result of that action being a dent on a scoreboard possibly thought un-dentable. It is to put aside the rational thought, and think with the same part of the brain that imagines "Mitch Moreland Left-Handed Relief Pitcher," to think "Joey Gallo in Arlington 2015."

It is giggle-inducing. It is nearly not-safe-for-work. It is incredibly amusing. It is jaw-droppingly marvelous. It is all and none of those things, because with Gallo, it is also nearly routine.


[HR: Gallo 2 (12, 2nd inning off Ortiz, 0 on, 0 out; 8th inning off Hagan, S, 0 on, 0 out).]