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Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door

Sunday night’s game got off to a great start. Our Zambrano pitching out of a jam. Their Zambrano struggling. Beltran, Floyd and Wright all having fun in the Build-A-Run Workshop. An excellent game right into the bottom of the third.

Which is when I turned it off.

Sunday night. Nine o’clock. Six Feet Under. Third-to-last episode ever. Nate’s funeral. Hey, I didn’t tell ESPN to reschedule the Mets and Cubs into the middle of my other obsession. I’d been waiting 167 hours — since the end of the fourth-to-last episode ever — for this. Godspeed, Mets; gotta go.

They indeed buried Nate [1]. It was a green funeral, just as he requested before the unexpected reflaring of his eventually fatal AVM. Meanwhile, the Mets buried the Cubs [2] without me. I grabbed a score when SFU ended, but otherwise stuck around for Entourage (Vince copped to his continuing obsession with Mandy Moore) and even The Comeback. By the time I was done with HBO, the Mets had finished off the Cubs, 6-1. Brenda never should have encouraged Nate to go see Maggie, but I could trust the Mets with a lead.

I dug up the remaining relevant details on Mets Extra, most notably Jose hitting in twenty straight. Five more, kid, five more. Most relevant of all, the Mets, despite appearing as dead as Nate as recently as Thursday when they went all Narm! [3] against the Brewers, are three out of a playoff spot. Now they have to do something Nate couldn’t do: stay alive in Southern California. It’s also something they rarely do themselves, but they’re not six feet under. They’re three games over.

Wish I could say more about Sunday night’s game, but I have to pull a Phil Rizzuto on my scorecard and mark most of it WW. It was one of the few times all season when I wasn’t watching.

All apologies.