An effective promotional tie-in requires taut, nylon rope,
strong enough to establish a connection, without breaking, something like:
Christmas in July! At a a baseball game!
We are addicted to beliefs of all sorts, like a that of an obese speed junkie philanthropist
visiting us all in one night, giving all of us toys, even the shitheads among us;
In the top of the 5th inning, Brian McCann came to the plate with a chance to add to the @Braves lead. Here's Joe Simpson: https://t.co/l6X5a2EKS2— Braves Radio Network (@BravesRadioNet) July 27, 2019
and we believe we always have a chance to win,
that there’s no clock,
that comebacks are things that happen, and worst of all:
we are all kids again, playing a kid’s game.
Lemme pop dat bubble dere:
Baseball’s changed and it’s walking around in the exercise yard, and plotting mercurially in the shadowy corners, and it’s going to get the fat man with a shiv.
No slush balls this time, mind you, I’m telling you: He’s getting it in the ribs,
(if we can find them)
Jake Arrieta's fastball velocity is down here in the fifth. Sat 93 mph early, now at 91 mph. https://t.co/6rTWiaHzCV— Matt Gelb (@MattGelb) July 27, 2019
Because here’s what’s real:
The Braves are better runners and hitters than the Phillies.
Did y’all see this poor guy lose all that food and BEER!? #ChopOn pic.twitter.com/sQJyhAtzBj— KakkoBreadSZN (Garrett) (@SportyGman10) July 26, 2019
And by the end of the 5th, down 5-1, after Realmuto grounded out against Newcomb after the Braves lifted their capable 21-year-old starter, the chances had shriveled to below ten percent.
“Kid,” he called over to the bullpen, “Kid - do what you can with your meager talent to keep the Braves at bay. We’ll take our chances.”
He knew there were no chances.
Cole Irvin just walked in his second consecutive run, this one on four pitches. He has walked three consecutive batters.— Todd Zolecki (@ToddZolecki) July 27, 2019
And the kid was all over the place, and the Braves scored four times more with one hit, and after the shiv we got out the lovely nylon rope
the one that ties things up so very nicely
and choked that jolly old elf to death on a night in July, then with pure gall said:
“We’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”
We are left to root for numbers, walking about the Yard
(perhaps with good behavior)
the parole board will spring us one day
(we don’t have a chance in hell)