[jg2977]

Ahhh, a pleasant October afternoon in Kansas City… clear skies, a gentle breeze pushing out toward center field, and the kind of day that reminds you why baseball feels like a companion rather than a contest.
The Royals struck first, and they struck quickly. A leadoff home run, another blast before the inning was done, and suddenly the home crowd was on its feet, the scoreboard reading 3–0, the sound echoing across Kauffman Stadium like a promise. But baseball, as we know, is a game that rarely keeps its promises for long.
The Tigers answered not with panic, but with patience. A run here, a run there. And then came the moment—top of the fifth inning—when Gilberto Cisneros stepped in. Detroit was trailing 4–3, a runner stood at first, and the air seemed to pause just a bit. Cisneros swung, and the ball took off toward the wind, rising, drifting, and finally disappearing into the seats. Just like that, the Tigers had the lead, and Cisneros had etched his name into the afternoon.
You know, Vin always liked to say that baseball gives you little stories inside the big one—and this was Cisneros’ story. Not one home run, but two. Four runs driven in. Two trips around the bases with that easy jog that tells you the hitter knew it the moment it left the bat.
Kansas City didn’t go quietly. They nudged back, chipped away, and when Cisneros homered again in the seventh, the Royals answered once more in the eighth, pulling within two and stirring the crowd into one last hopeful murmur. But hope, like daylight in October, fades a little faster.
When the final out was recorded, the Tigers stood with an 8–6 victory, a one-game lead in the series, and the quiet confidence of a team that knows it doesn’t have to be perfect—just timely.
So Detroit takes Game 1, thanks largely to the bat of Gilberto Cisneros, and tomorrow, well… tomorrow is another story. And in baseball, there’s always another story waiting to be told.