Go back to sleep. Nothing to see here.
This is the West Coast game I remember, the one whose inevitable return I've been dreading for more than four months. It's the one that ends with Roger McDowell balking somebody home or Dave Telgheder giving way to Doug Linton giving way to utter dismay. (Brian Bohanon and Barry Manuel also work in this equation.) I knew it was coming sooner or later. Yeah, the last game in San Diego was horrible, but that was a different kind of horrible. This was standard-issue Chavez Rotten. It's part of the package. You don't want it but you have to accept it. It's an integral component of nearly every Mets season.
Think of the Dodger Do-In as a rite of passage.
Since you tuned out and turned in, let me fill you in on what you missed:
Total fucking bullshit is what you missed. Do the details really fucking matter? Just know that it started late, it went long, it wound up in a walk-off, it revolved around somebody nobody ever heard of flinging his batting helmet in jubilation like he's David Ortiz (which he may as well have been) and it probably finished, for the eighth or ninth time, our chances to advance this season.
Friday night's/Saturday morning's game sustained itself far enough for the keen-eared listener to understand just how obviously in the offing the loss was. Gary and Eddie (great guy, wonderful guy…announcing's just not his strong suit) kept going on about how endless the game was and how it was going to lap the Saturday afternoon start, ha-ha. When Eddie made that point one too many times, I could feel a Dioner Navarro home run off Braden Looper in my bones. Actually, I could sense something like that coming when the guys insisted the Mets couldn't win until Cam came out from under anesthesia. Nice thought, but don't say shit like that. It never, ever leads to any good.
As for the rest of the series, Jae Seo is scheduled to come back to Earth later today and the Mets will attempt to win a game started by Pedro Martinez for the first time in more than three weeks on Sunday. We figure to have a short bench and an interminable flight home.
Sweet fucking dreams. I hate L.A.