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Tuesday, October 20
World Series Game 1
I climbed into my beat up 2007 Mazda 3, pulled out of my parking spot at the shop, turned on ESPN Radio and caught the first pitch as I neared the end of the driveway. By the time I had accelerated to 45 mph, headed east, toward the freeway on Tualatin Sherwood Road, Yandy Diaz had opened the matchup with a single and things were looking good for the Rays. As I drove to my house, through the first couple innings, there was no score. Kershaw and Glasnow were pitching well, it seemed, defenses were holding up.
Then, at some point after I parked in my driveway at home and before I turned the game back on, after dinner and dishes, the Dodgers had scored 3 or 4 runs and Yarborough was pitching for Tampa Bay. Kiki Hernandez had come in the game and they just kept hitting balls through holes. I watched half an inning that took three or four times through "Let it Go" and other various songs from Frozen, while the TV was muted and the littlest played piano, danced and sang to the streaming Disney masterpiece.
Shortly after my alarm reminded me to administer meds to my children, I donned my headphones, leashed my dogs and connected to ESPN Radio once again. My old cur, Simon, doesn't walk at night and Sadie, the old bitch, only lasts a block or so these days. The young stud, Shia, waited impatiently for Sadie to piss and smell shit every ten feet or so while I listened to the top of the 8th inning. The Rays had scored a couple in the 7th, but no such luck in the time before we dropped Sadie back off at the house. Shia and I continued as Dan Shulman called the last Tampa Bay at bat. Joe Kelly finished off the top of the 9th, sheer there game, by putting his throwing hand in the path of a line drive, slowing it for the infield play for the last out. Sounded like something a young stud might do.
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