I went to see the most exasperating excruciating exfoliating (sorry I need three) eviscerating most fucked up game in history.

Thor pitched seven almost perfect innings.

I wondered if it was a good move to take him out after seven, but that was the standard thing for the Mudville Mets, who have a good bullpen (the Giants do not). Bumgarner stayed in. And as with the Toronto-Baltimore game the night before, a three-run late-inning home run, which would have been bedlam in Flushing had the Mets hit it, knocked the wind out of the New York faithful. A few ne'er-do-wells in the row in front of us, wearing freshly bought Mets clothing, left after that half inning. How like Los Angeles I said to my fellow heart-broken Metsies. What weak philosophy. Good riddance I muttered under my breath. They probably are secretly Yankees fans.

We all stayed till the bitter end, and watched the opposing team celebrate on our field. This is the first time Citi Field has been so defiled. We had to tear down Shea Stadium because it was host to the infidels, the New Jork Jankees, who celebrated their world crown on our field. Call out the bulldozers, so say we all. It's time to tear this baby down. 

No such fate awaits the current home of the Mets. The Giants won the game, fair and square. But the news reports that say the Mets were humbled are unfair and just plain wrong. The Mets were in the game all the way to the bottom of the ninth. Our ace, the only uninjured pitching star in the Mets season-starting rotation, was unhittable. Curtis Granderson made a circus catch in center field, the kind of thing that makes postseason baseball so incredibly intense. The Mets threatened to score a couple of times, if you were generous in your estimation, but they were still our team, always. The Giants? Good luck with the Cubbies. It would be nice to see a match between Los Angeles and San Francisco. For now, I'm going to focus on presidential sports.