FIRST INNING: MARINERS 4 (0) – 0 ASTROS
Stuck on a desert island, a bearded man receives a message in a bottle. A newspaper, from North America, washed up onto the beach, rolled up and wedged in with a cork, the sports section visible through the glass.
He finds it, sees it, reads it. An hour later starts a bonfire and writes three letters into the sand. M.O.M.—digging them giant, tall, enough to catch the eye of any pilot overhead.
“My oh my,” he says to himself, prostrate, worshipping the paper, the score, the standings. The very bottle itself.
“My, oh my.”