It’s 4-1 in the bottom of the seventh.  Fernando Tatis, showing signs of life, belts a homer off the “Super Guarantee” sign in left field, after watching one sail over his head just a few minutes earlier.

Daniel Murphy flies out to right.  Angel Berroa?  Left.  Omir Santos?  He chops a double; it tails past where we can’t see and he’s in, easily.

You can’t believe you’ve just spent five minutes of your life cheering for the likes of Fernando Tatis, Daniel Murphy, Angel Berroa, and Omir Santos.  That’s like cheering for Robin Duke, Brad Hall, Tim Kazurinsky, and Joe Piscopo.

Jeremy Reed comes in to pinch hit for Brian Stokes, who should’ve been in for Jon Niese after Tatis made that amazing grab in the top of the seventh.  Then Matt Daley gets pulled for Franklin Morales.  So Reed gets pulled for (wait for it)… Robinson Cancel.

The staggering corpse of Robinson Cancel.

You just don’t do that.

You also don’t risk an entire upcoming season to play at less than one hundred percent, Carlos Beltran.  What in the world do you know and we don’t?  Are the prophecies true?  Should I start buying bottled water and digging a cave out of a limestone cliff?  If that’s so, then shouldn’t the prospect of making the playoffs seem not unreachable, but unimportant?  We know you’re a badass.  Don’t be a hero.

Nothin’ makes sense no more.  I’m going to try for the Blue Smoke line tonight.  Comfort food, baby.  Comfort.  Food.

*I’m not a mope.  I know the Mets took three of four from the Rockies, and I should be grateful.  But… Robinson Cancel?  ROBINSON.  CANCEL.  He’s the fifth Beatle!

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