During times like these, friends, when your manager inexplicably pinch hits for your catcher — who, by the by, homered last night — when he represents the tying run, and he pinch hits for said catcher with a mummy who hasn’t homered since the Clinton Administration: they are no words. Only sad songs.
Play us out, Wilco.
What was I thinkin’ when I let Kotsay back in…
Take out Lucroy because I don’t believe in Home Runs.
I am trying, to end this game.
Miller plastic bottle drinkin’
I assassin down the first base line.
I’m hiding out in the dugout blinkin’
What was I thinking when Kotsay bat