At 8:56 central daylight you sent word: CapitolCut. It's ScherZer-Arrieta in the District of Columbia.
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I have Oakland at Houston on MLB.TV, top 6, A's with the bases loaded, James Hoyt on in favor of Mike Fiers, two out, full count! The runners all belong to Fiers; Healy bats. He fouls the seventh pitch. Lifted deep ... grand slam, holy moly. A's lead 5-1. Pretty opposite field, toss-your-hands at the pitch swing from Ryon Healy. He thought he'd fouled that seventh into McCann's glove; he took off his helmet, dropped his bat, but then he realized the ball had scooted away. Manaea will work the bottom of the sixth with a four-run lead.
I have poured a vodka, my first drink of the day. I am running the sprinkler out front. Night has fallen, it is 21:20. I haven't been writing much. Though I've been quit of my desk job for two months now I've been—I've kept—busy. But the reason I was not sitting here watching ball last night is that I drank too much and got spacy and tired and useless. I missed some good action, per Buster Olney's scoreboard recap podcast.
I wanted that in the record but I won't dwell on it. There was no day action today. The HotCut started as scheduled at 18:05 from D.C. I listened to a couple of innings while cooking and then watched a couple more innings. Arrieta did not record an out in the fifth. He walked six and allowed five earned. I saw him lose a pitch to the backstop. It seemed to me his arm is frayed, frazzled, unable to keep up with the rest of him. The cutter is the double-edged sword. You think he is done. He burned quite bright there for ... two to three years but I think his best work is behind him. The Nats weren't hitting homers but they made enough contact to admixture the six walks; they ran wild (Turner had four swipes, Taylor two, Rendon one). ScherZer was not spectacular but perfectly cromulent through six. That's when Enny Romero entered a 6-1 game and I moved to this AL match.
Commercial breaks have returned to progress, Jake. I mean to say that the rash of corporate advertising on MLB.TV—the outbreak of Ecuadorian coffee, pierced cellphones, emptied purses, and cloches—has subsided. This week it has been quite common to get a peaceful, serene, and placid red white and blue MLB logo screen doing its slow crawl. Thus, the MLB.TV ad apparatus remains a here today-gone tomorrow paranormal-level phenomenon. K-hris Davis crushes a double, nets his 50th RBI. I'm done with this game. Second vodka. The sprinkler has been going for nearly an hour.
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I have Oakland at Houston on MLB.TV, top 6, A's with the bases loaded, James Hoyt on in favor of Mike Fiers, two out, full count! The runners all belong to Fiers; Healy bats. He fouls the seventh pitch. Lifted deep ... grand slam, holy moly. A's lead 5-1. Pretty opposite field, toss-your-hands at the pitch swing from Ryon Healy. He thought he'd fouled that seventh into McCann's glove; he took off his helmet, dropped his bat, but then he realized the ball had scooted away. Manaea will work the bottom of the sixth with a four-run lead.
I have poured a vodka, my first drink of the day. I am running the sprinkler out front. Night has fallen, it is 21:20. I haven't been writing much. Though I've been quit of my desk job for two months now I've been—I've kept—busy. But the reason I was not sitting here watching ball last night is that I drank too much and got spacy and tired and useless. I missed some good action, per Buster Olney's scoreboard recap podcast.
I wanted that in the record but I won't dwell on it. There was no day action today. The HotCut started as scheduled at 18:05 from D.C. I listened to a couple of innings while cooking and then watched a couple more innings. Arrieta did not record an out in the fifth. He walked six and allowed five earned. I saw him lose a pitch to the backstop. It seemed to me his arm is frayed, frazzled, unable to keep up with the rest of him. The cutter is the double-edged sword. You think he is done. He burned quite bright there for ... two to three years but I think his best work is behind him. The Nats weren't hitting homers but they made enough contact to admixture the six walks; they ran wild (Turner had four swipes, Taylor two, Rendon one). ScherZer was not spectacular but perfectly cromulent through six. That's when Enny Romero entered a 6-1 game and I moved to this AL match.
Commercial breaks have returned to progress, Jake. I mean to say that the rash of corporate advertising on MLB.TV—the outbreak of Ecuadorian coffee, pierced cellphones, emptied purses, and cloches—has subsided. This week it has been quite common to get a peaceful, serene, and placid red white and blue MLB logo screen doing its slow crawl. Thus, the MLB.TV ad apparatus remains a here today-gone tomorrow paranormal-level phenomenon. K-hris Davis crushes a double, nets his 50th RBI. I'm done with this game. Second vodka. The sprinkler has been going for nearly an hour.
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