Bottom of the 9th

Somehow I'm able to laugh at Tommy Lasorda still. But I'm dead on the inside.

Adam Wainwright is pitching vs. Valentin.

I'm feeling terrible for Heilman. He's been great.

Man, I can't take this shit. Valentin singles. Oh, man, I can't take it. Is that a glimmer of hope I smell?

Now Endy Chavez. (And Clifford "Motherfuckin" Floyd on deck. Me likey.) And Endy singles, too. Oh, my God. Fuck me. This is exceptionally stressful. And I don't know if I can't take it.

Clifford batting. Sore Achilles' heel and all. I can't take it. Cliff swings for the fences and misses. I can't take it. Come on, Clifford. Molina tries to throw behind to Chavez, but Endy's safe. Come on, Clifford. And Clifford lets a beautiful curve ball go by. Man, no doubt. Clifford got outpitched.

Reyes. Jesus, I can't take this. Reyes hit it hard but too close to Edmonds, who doesn't make any goddamn mistakes.

Lo Duca comes up to "Boogie Shoes." Down to the last out. Come on, Paulie. Fuck. I can't take this. I really can't. I'm feeling flushed. Light-headed. This is just terrible. Holy fucking shit. Paul walks. Bases loaded for Beltran.

Really. I can't take this. It's a fucking cliche of baseball. Bases loaded and two outs? What the hell is going on?

Beltran. This is what he makes $117 million for. Don't fucking blow this. And he blows it. Three strikes. Caught looking with the bases loaded. That's a season's worth of booing there, Beltran.

Fuck. It's over. The Mets lose. Fuck.

Relief, but sadness. Poor Heilman. Goddammit.

That's it. I'm done.