Joe Posnanski, quickly becoming my favorite baseball blogger, offers this little nugget (very end of the entry) about watching Saturday night’s marathon:
Well, Joe, that's about how happy we'd be to see Borowski in a close game. Okay, maybe not that happy. Maybe Cleveland doesn't have a reliever as bad as Gagne.
I will also say this — all game long (because of my
paranoia) I was sure the Indians would lose Saturday. Absolutely sure. It was that feeling in the pit of your stomach, and it was there for all 73 hours (time actually stands still when Rafael Betancourt pitches, so it was even longer than 73 hours) … UNTIL … Eric Gagne came in from the bullpen. Cleveland
A few years ago, I went to the Olympics in
when my oldest daughter, Elizabeth, was only two years old. I was away from her for three weeks, and it was awful. For three weeks, I thought about how much she was changing, how much I was missing, how bad a father I was, how desperately I missed her. And then, finally, the Olympics ended, and I took the long plane ride, and then another, and finally I arrived at the airport, and I walked on the concourse, and there she was, mt Elizabeth, and she ran into my arms and shouted “Daddy” and it was just about the best feeling I’ve ever felt. Greece
Yeah, that’s just about how happy I was to see Eric Gagne.