Tonight at roughly midnight will mark the one-week anniversary, if you will, of the night Nationals fans had their hearts ripped out of their chests and got their Natitude stomped on by a gritty bunch of postseason-savvy Cardinals.
You've read all of the accounts, the woe-is-us stories from Nats fans. And, heck, it's a week later. You know the story, so I'll spare recounting the details.
Baseball is new to D.C. and many Nationals fans are new to the sport. But I have been a baseball fan for the past 34 years, and at no point during the six-run lead was I ever comfortable. How could you rest easy when every time the TV cameras flashed to Gio on the mound, you could, as members of the Cardinals would say later, see the fear in Gio's eyes?
Holy cow, that was rough night. And baseball will do that to you. There's no clock to watch countdown, hoping it hits zero before your team loses its grip. Before they snatch defeat from the jaws for victory.
You just have to sit there and watch, with no foreseeable end. Watch as the other team, having done this sort of thing before, chips and chips away. Someone said this week, it's like having your head cut off with a toothpick. That's a little drastic. It's just baseball, after all, but you get the point.
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