Kim and I decided to do a spur/moment Northampton trip yesterday. So we had the game on in the car, heard us cut it to 2-1, then heard it go to 3-1 before flipping it off for a while. Just before arriving at our desto, we heard the Ross dong. Was excited that it was close again...until Castig said "and it's six to two Baltimore." Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

So we hang out in lovely Northampton, walk around Smith, eat at this place called Mulino's which had a good eggplant thing, do our usual stop at the coffee shop, get some Key lime pie, and head home. Music in the car, and a long circular conversation about consciousness and life and dying and reincarnation and neurons firing and all that. Got home and decided to watch this movie called The Cruise about an eccentric tour bus host. Went to bed. About to fall asleep.

Oh right, let's check that final score. I had this thought that went "watch they actually came back to tie it only to lose in extra innings." You know I'm a Positive Poncherello, but I guess I'd just chalked this one up already, so instead of "come on, 7-6 Red Sox, come on 7-6 Red Sox!" I just had that one brief negative thought.

And there it was. I got that feeling you can only get when you've accidentally predicted the nearly impossible worst and then you find out it happened just like that. 7-6 Orioles in 12 innings. I then read the article about how all the runs I'd missed on both sides came on squeakily deakily bingles and how baseball is a game of centi-inches and that none of this stuff could have possibly happened but it all did.

6-2 Orioles would have been so much easier to deal with....