So even though Andy Pettite wasn't throwing his best stuff for a mind-boggling second game in a row, the Astros persevered and took a 4-2 lead over the Cardinals in the 7th off a three-run Lance Berkman homer. Then I went and ruined it for them.
In the top of the 8th, I said, "Wow. They're six outs away. This is as close as they've ever been to the World Series." I repeated this at five outs, four outs, three outs, two outs, one out. I hadn't realized at the time, but this was obviously an obscure invocation to arouse the Baseball Gods. Astros closer, Brad Lidge, had been hit a bit by the Cards earlier in the series, but had retired the first two batters he faced in the ninth. It looked like he was cruising, and at the time I hadn't yet realized I'd attracted the attention of the Baseball Gods. So perhaps I can be forgiven for my lapse: "They're one strike away from the World Series. My God, I think they're finally going to do it."
That, of course, was all the opening the Baseball Gods needed. Faster than you can say, "It ain't over 'til it's over," the next two batters reached base and Albert Pujols was ripping off a three-run homer that went so far it'd have gone out of the ballpark had the roof been open. On TV, Nolan Ryan looked like he wanted to cry in the stands. I was so discombobulated that I forgot to put on my rally cap in the bottom of the ninth. As far as losses go, this was pretty much the worst way to suffer one.
Rest assured, I won't be tempting the Baseball Gods again.
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