Dutch!

What's this, the Nats showing power? Three homers in one game? Huh? I'm confused. Five runs in an inning? Sweeeeeeeeet! Victory!

There's something thrilling about extra innings that shoots a jolt of electricity into the game, the kind of electricity that sends visible blue sparks into the late baseball sky, even if you have to stay up past your bedtime to watch (or listen, as the case may be with the Nats.) Sometimes the nervous anxiety is overwhelming, even if it is only the second game of the season. When you get to extra innings after baseball's third basemen of the future (with respect to David Wright) hits his first Major League homerun to tie the game, the game takes on a whole other meaning, like you gotta win it for this kid! At least, that's what I felt last night, when it seemed like the Nats were about to drop their second game to the Mets, and second one-run loss, of all things. (As Ball Wonk said, why do we still have the 2005 Nats hanging around?) I mean, it was Billy Wagner pitching. Billy Wagner! Dutch waited to go deep for the first time on one of the most dominant closers in baseball, a guy who commanded a salary fit only for the fat wallets of Big Apple spending madness.

The game had pretty much been one of those where you frequently mumble @#$%! under your breath and let out long, disgusted sighs as if the season had already been decided by your team's little league inability to get the job done. Your best or second best starter had performed poorly when a win was needed out of him, since your second best or best starter had lost his game two days earlier and your next three starters should be selling insurance or real estate or something other than pitching for a Major League Baseball team. Four innings? Four innings were all he could muster out of his "tight forearm." You had your $10,000,000.00 whino benched for not running out a pop foul. All of the sudden you find your finger inching closer to the radio off button because you have Billy Wagner trying to close out the game when Bang! Zoom!, Dutch hits one out. Sweeeeet.

Suddenly, your eyes open. You stare at the radio as if somehow you'll magically be able to watch the rest of the game, like the baseball gods just might finally grant you a miracle after they'd damned you to baseball hell. Your heart pounds as the Chief loads the bases in the bottom on the ninth, just to make things interesting before getting the third out, and then the fun starts.

My roommates must think I'm insane with the noises that come from my room, the jeers and the cheers and yes, even clapping, but I assure you, my pulse as yours doth temperately keep time, and makes as healthful music. It is not madness I've uttered, but a cheer of jubilation as a contractless Guillen goes yard, the start of a five run ninth which eventually leads to win number one of the year. Victory!