"All right, no hitting in the clinches, no biting, no kicking. I want a good clean fight. Now go back to your corners. And when you hear the bell, come out swinging... PLAY BALL!"
Tonight might prove to be a game where we come away with a win, yet still get our asses kicked. Or converse, we might lose, yet still be victorious. Because this is not about runs scored; this is about dignity, pride, self-respect and standing up to the bullies of Chavez Ravine. Are we going to let them push us around? Are we going to let them kick sand in our faces? Hell, no! So, let's get it on!
We don't want to fight, but, by jingo, if we do,
We've got the ball, we've got the men, we've got the prospects too!
We've fought L.A. before, and while we're D'backs true,
The Dodgers shall not get to plunk our hitters...
Okay, I just want to see a brawl, I admit it. Because I've little doubt warnings will have been issued, we'll have to play it cool for the first few innings - our bullpen has already been sorely taxed in the last couple of nights. The ideal scenario is as follows: we win in a blowout, Vargas pitches eight innings. In the bottom of the ninth, the Dodgers bat. Our pitcher hits their leadoff man. He gets ejected. Our next pitcher hits their next hitter. And our third pitcher repeats the process. Let battle commence. Oh, Vargas goes against Penny, should you care.
Posting this up here quickly before we scurry off to watch Room Raiders at 6:30pm: we've heard from some people who have already seen it [the Dish network, for example, seems to carry an East coast feed, so it played three hours earlier]. But they didn't call to mock, so Emily may not have to spend the rest of her life in a convent, as she currently fears. That should be over just in time for first pitch, and hopefully I won't have missed any bloodshed.