Is that even remotely a phonetic transcription of the old Twilight Zone theme? Either way, that's where I spent my evening last night. Not in the Twilight Zone, itself, but rather in the opening credits, with that flying door and floating eyeball, and all those little spinning stars. Perhaps I see spinning stars because I watched nearly six hours of baseball yesterday, two games with identical scores, which in turn were played with similar swells and lulls, and closed in extra innings with dramatic, tie-breaking runs.
I won't talk of the Atlanta/Nationals game on your site, Daniel, other than to say that it and the rain delay in Chicago put me in a black mood for the Giants/Cubs game. I was tired, stuffed with too much pizza and chocolate cake, and really just wanted to curl up with a good Hardy Boys mystery.
When the bottom of the 8th arrived and Chicago tied the game 2-2, I shook my head. "Wha? Am I streaming last night's game?" You see, I often talk to my computer. At that hour of the night, it sometimes talks back. "No, Andrew, you are not watching last night's game. This tying run was produced not by Neifi, but by Michael Barrett." I fully expected the Cubbies to then score another run in the bottom of the ninth, thus closing that flying door and trapping me in the Twilight Zone for good. But Glendon Rusch(ed) in, producing a dizzying 3 hits, 1 run, 3 strikeouts, and an error in 34 pitches. I think I made the mistake of going to the bathroom (hey, it was late!) and missed Deivi Cruz coming home to score in the 25th.
On Small Ball, you talk about LaTroy Hawkins playing the unfortunate role of despised returning son. I was a little embarrassed for Cubs fans, since I've railed at length about how poorly mannered Padres and Dodgers fans are, and expected better of Chicago. The collective chanting unnerved me, and I wasn't even there! Good thing Hawkins wasn't bleeding—somebody might have thrown salt on his wounds.
If you could award "wins" to batters other than the game-winning run-producer, I think the Giants should thank J.T. Snow for stepping in and, with an 0-1 count, pimp-slapping the ball to center. Go J.T. (but not too fast, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself)!