[jg2977]

ST. LOUIS 3, SAN DIEGO 2 — OR: TWELVE INNINGS OF BASEBALL THAT FELT LIKE A PRISON SENTENCE

Alright, let’s get something straight. Baseball is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be nine innings, a couple of beers, maybe a hot dog, maybe you get home in time to catch the late news. But no — this game? Padres and Cardinals decided to play twelve innings. Twelve! That’s not a baseball game, that’s jury duty. That’s community service.

The Padres — oh my God, these guys. Nine hits, ten men left on base. Ten! You know what that is? That’s malpractice. That’s a war crime against baseball. That’s like cooking a giant Thanksgiving turkey and then throwing it straight in the garbage and saying, “Eh, we’ll just eat Pop-Tarts instead.”

Steven Janczak — St. Louis pitcher, seven innings, nine hits, somehow only gives up two runs. How? Because the Padres couldn’t drive in a run if you handed them an Uber app and free gas money. They put guys on, they move guys over, and then — nothing. Like fireworks that never go off.

And then we get Victor Torres — this guy gets ejected in the 12th inning for arguing balls and strikes. Of course he did. Because when your team’s choking away every chance, the real problem is obviously the umpire, right? Yeah, blame the guy in the mask, don’t look in the mirror, buddy.

Then poor Ivan Canal — comes out of the bullpen, throws almost five innings, and gets torched in the 12th. Walk-off single by Matt Petron. That’s it. Ballgame. Everyone go home. I sat through twelve innings of this nonsense so Matt Petron could hit a dribbler into left. Fantastic.

And let’s talk about Busch Stadium. Forty-eight thousand people in the stands, clear skies, 54 degrees, wind blowing right to left — which means every beer is going cold before you finish drinking it. Hot dogs are nine bucks. Nine bucks! For what? A shriveled piece of mystery meat on a soggy bun. I’ve had better food at gas stations in Jersey.

So now the Cardinals are up 1-0 in the series, and the Padres? They’re looking at Game 2 tomorrow, wondering, “Gee, maybe we should actually score after the third inning.” Ya think?!

Twelve innings. Three and a half hours. You know what I could’ve done in that time? Watched Goodfellas twice. Twice! Or smoked a carton of Marlboros and had time left over for a nap. But no, I watched the Padres forget how to hit for nine innings straight.

Baseball. America’s pastime. My ass.