Final Score: Nationals 11, Brewers 10
Dame of the Game:
Michael Morse: 2-4, HR, 2 R, 4 RBI, BB, K.
Subject: Re: Morse?
Message: No. No remorse.
Shame of the Game:
Ryan Mattheus: 1.2 IP, 4 ER, 5 H, 3 HR. Mattheus entered today’s sausage race as a shit sausage. Man, he was bad.
There are few things in life more satisfying than turning off a terrible baseball game to do something more enjoyable only to turn it on later to discover that while you were away and inwardly conceding defeat, something ridiculously fantastic happened. One of the more satisfying things is actually watching those ridiculously fantastic things happen.
My personal experience with Sunday’s game was the former, but I’ll take it. When I disgustedly moved on with my afternoon, it was 7-3 Brewers in the 7th. This situation produced in me a similar emotion to that given by my subsequent action, removing some mold-covered cheese from my rot-smelling refrigerator. This refrigerator is basically a mold factory–you can’t leave food in there for more than a few minutes or it’ll start crawling with some ungodly pestilence. Sorta like leaving Ryan Mattheus in this game.
When I checked my phone for the score a considerable amount of time later, I naturally assumed the game would be long over, the Nats having settled for a series split–the most mediocre of outcomes against the most mediocre of teams. When the score appeared as 11-9 Nats in the top of the 11th, I first paused for a few moments to ensure that my score-checking app hadn’t randomly decided to show me the results of a Nats/Brewers game from 2007 or something. But no. It had actually happened. My wrongly-colored sliced cheese had transformed from smelling like death itself to exuding the sweet scent of whatever the Nationals version of this would be. In the metaphor, at least–in real life the cheese still smelled horrible.
At first I wondered things like “how” and “who” and “why” and “will this dramatically alter the course of the future of the universe?” I’d later find out the answers (4 runs in the 8th, 2 in the 9th, 2 in the 11th/Roger Bernadina, Michael Morse, John Axford, and the eminently hateable Jose Veras/because all previous events in history had somehow contributed to predetermining this outcome in ways that are not comprehensible to humans/no), but those didn’t matter. In the end it was just another improbable win for a Nats team that seems to have no regard for probability, morality, or public nudity laws (I assume).
Let’s hope they win a few more so we can have a naked World Series parade in November.