Twins at Baltimore. Twins 11, O's 2.
Okay, Batgirl's been waiting to use that one all season. She's also been waiting to use "It's Hard Out Here for a Gimp," which could apply in so many situations, including, perhaps, the story of Luis Castillo's year. And it is hard, it's hard out here, when you’re trying to get the money for the rent, for the Cadillacs and gas money spent, because a whole lot of bitches talkin' shit, will have a whole lot of bitches talkin' shit.
And don't I know it.
The point is, it didn't seem like the Boof, the Boof, the Boof was going to be on fire at all this season. Sure, there were some smoking innings in there (remember when he loaded the bases and then struck out the side?) but mostly we were lucky to get him at body temperature.
And it's been a little trying, frankly. We're in a pennant race, here, people, Batgirl's all on edge, and we've got a pitching rotation held together by wishes and fish glue. It's Santana, Radke, and pray like hell for three days of rain. (The actual meteorological event, not the Richard Greenberg play, though Batgirl thinks Julia Roberts was very brave to go on Broadway like that, where you actually have to, you know, act, and everyone was so mean to her and then she got snubbed for a Tony but had the dignity to go up and present at the ceremony, because that's Julia for you--dignity, which is something those fancy pants Broadway actors with their training and their talent don't know a thing about. So there.)
The thing is, it always feels like our doom is right around the corner, sometime roughly after Joe Nathan closes a Johan Santana start—and yet somehow these pray-for-rain guys have been managing to come through when we need them. The Boofster's Kid Funky Fried act was beautiful tonight—one walk, seven hits, and 2 runs that came on a 2 run homer in the seventh—more than that, he always seemed in control.
It helps, of course, to have an offense destined to produce 11 runs in one night. The Chairman and Cuddles were a combined 7 for 8, with 8 RBIs and three runs—slumping behind them were the Doctor and Sweetcheeks, with a long homerun a piece. Castillo was 3 for 5, LNP 2 for 5, making for a generally awesome evening.
Batgirl needed this. She has no fingernails left. Every time she thinks she can't take any more of this, she worries the baseball gods will grant her wish and take it all away. Our boys have been playing it this close for so long—always just behind in the wild card race and every time they get the lead it falls through their fingers. Batgirl wants it this weekend, she wants it bad. She's already talking to herself in tongues, and the game doesn't start 'til tomorrow. It's going to take all of us, my friends, you and me and the BatKitties Three. It's going to take Radke, Santana, and Silva pitching their bests, it's going to take the boys doing this whole monster mash thing they've been doing, it's going to take Little Nicky Punto and all of the powers at his disposal.
Picture courtesy of Eric based on 87&91s haiku.
Are you ready? Are you focused? Have you stretched, rested, hydrated? We don’t know where we'll be at the end of the weekend, but one thing's for sure--we'll have a whole lot of bitches talking shit.