At 8:56 central daylight you sent word: CapitolCut. It's ScherZer-Arrieta in the District of Columbia. * 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 her...
My account of the the day's premier baseball game.