Wednesday, October 18, 2006

down to the wire

A SCENE FROM TONIGHT’S GAME:

MG: *hiding with hood over her head*
TBF: “Can we calm down? It’s only the fourth inning.”
MG: “I don’t like this.” *draws hood down further*
TBF:  “Their bullpen—”
MG: “Right, their bullpen is shit, that’s great. What about OUR BATS?”
TBF: “Can we come down off the ledge?”
MG: “Pot, meet kettle. Where did I learn this?”
TBF: “I don’t get loud.”
MG: “No, you get catatonic.”
TBF: *grump*
MG: *pout*
Rally Cat: “MEOW”

That was most of the night from about the time the Cardinals evened up the score. I got a headache, TBF was grumpy, I was cranky, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch glaring at each other, as though it was personally the other individual’s fault that D.Wright is only averaging .067 in the post-season and that Reyes is swinging at rubber ducks.

The cat would come over for attention or consolation, and one of us (okay, me) would yell at the TV, and he would go hide again. A few minutes later, he would emerge, and the process would reverse itself. Don’t worry, animal lovers: I gave him canned food earlier tonight (although that was from guilt that we will be gone the next two nights) and cat treats around the 6th inning. He’s doing just fine, but I imagine he is eagerly awaiting the offseason.

I do not wish to revel in someone else’s injuries, but I was ready to cheer that David Eckstein got hit on the hand by Mota. I am a terrible person.

I was going to write something profound, but the head hurts too much and it’s like typing through swamp fog.

You gotta believe? I’ll be there tomorrow night with bells on…and clenched teeth.  We need a real miracle now.