There's something barbarous about the cry that rises from the stands.
So primal,
So ancient. 
It calls to mind gladiators or chariot races.
But here,
Everyone's a Caesar, 
A Nero,
And they show their approval accordingly,
Be it a swift clap of the hands or else with rhythmic chants,
As old as athletics themselves. 

A broader democratic vista I've never seen.
Here, 
The father dances with his son.
There, 
The mother cheers with her daughter.
Two brothers,
Overwrought with excitement,
Behold the verdant field with wide-eyed wonder.
No doubt it's reminiscent of the stickball they'd play together on hot summer days,
When the city felt as if it were a self-contained universe.
Such prowess on full display,
Though hard to see past the straw hats.

Chester Sakamoto © 2021