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One of the things I have to remember about the new computer is that it's clock is mercilessly accurate; I'd got used to the old one being 15-20 minutes fast, so I thought I still had plenty of time to get the thread up. Not so. We turn to Livan Hernandez to stop the streak of wobbly performances. There: that's not a phrase which comes easily to my lips. But I haven't quite turned from him in the same way as Mrs. SnakePit, who was muttering about cancers that need to be cut away from the team earlier on.
However, if we play as suckily as we did last night, we could have Cy Young on the mound and it wouldn't matter. It's got to the stage where watching this team is like playing roulette; you can't predict, except in the vaguest of terms, what'll happen. Eric Byrnes will get his uniform dirty. Carlos Quentin will swing at pitches out of the zone, and still might hit them out of the park. Orlando Hudson will either make a highlight-reel grab, or botch an easy play. More than that, I'm not prepared to say, but let's hope the Arizona fireworks are not limited to those after the end of the game.