and I suggest you do the same.
At least I know that the odds of Tim pitching a shutout tomorrow are waaaaaaay better than us scoring 4 runs in a game, so I think we can win 1-0 or 2-0.
Damn galling to lose to those Smogsucking LAtriners in our yard where we are supposed to have some kind of home-field advantage over the poor, whining visiting squads. The Blue Goo beat us at our own game, that is, the game you are supposed to complement good pitching with: working counts, situational hitting, smart baserunning, good fielding, you know the drill, you've heard Ol' Boch drone on about it, like that does any fookin' good. Extra-base hits with men on base are always nice, of course.
I tell you, this "offense" is offensive. FSanchez is hurt. Ain't that grand? We get our shiny, new, little sporty ride and now we gotta take it to the shop to fix some dangling fookin' doohickey. What kind of shite is that?
This little run of wretchedness has exposed our fatal flaw. We are a Tim & Matt team, a 1-2 punch, and if either of them miss we are on fumes only. For the record, I'm not worried about Matt. He's had a little bad luck lately. He's still the same guy, still has the big fastball and the big heart. He's going to have stretches where some of those flyballs are HRs, that's baseball probabilities at work.
What's killing us is the lack of any other weapons. You ought to be able to use your knife if your gun jams, or swing your stick if your fist wasn't enough. We go into these battles with half the arsenal of the other guys, and guile and grit don't quite make up the difference.
It's a day game tomorrow, don't forget. I'll take some solace knowing that we've got our superstar going. I've no doubt that Ol' Boch will be raiding the medicine cabinet for extra ampules of VSC--that ought to get us our "must" win. Wha? Me? Uh, no thanks Bruce, I'll stick with whiskey.