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The rain had passed in the night, leaving chilled air.

I drove Puck to school. Thought I’d be clever and leave five minutes earlier than usual to beat the traffic. Landed there twenty minutes early.

Back at the Big House, Mom and Dad were getting ready to leave for their weekend in Branson. Carrie-Bri had an appointment at Spirit Airport for her written pilot’s exam. And Linnea-Irish was working a shift at Dairy Queen as a favor for a co-worker.

Puck was ready for pick-up at three. Everyone was decked in Cards gear for the evening game. Red everywhere. Good old home town.

NLDS Game 1

St. Louis Cardinals at Los Angeles Dodgers

5:30 pm

Big Game: here we go. 110 degrees on the field. The Dodgers were already hooking themselves up to IVs. Our boys? No way. It pays to play in St. Louis summers.

It didn’t take long for the benches to clear when Waino accidentally hit Puig on his upper back with an escaped pitch. Yadi and Gonzalez went at it, profusion of Spanish drilled at each other across home plate, Matheny throwing himself between them before irreparable damage ensued. No punches thrown, no hits exchanged. Onward.

This happened just a little after Rose walked in from work. Then Carrie came in with sub sandwiches, Sun Chips, and apple cider right before the Dodgers began pouring on runs.

We were down four runs. Hope? Always. I was already annoyed with the broadcasters for deluging their pretty boy, Dodgers starter Clayton Kershaw, with worshipful accolades. He may be a Presbyterian Texan kid with orphanage charities in Africa, but when he hit Matt Holliday with an intentional pitch back in July … respect lost.

Just about the time I felt like cracking heads together, what do you know they blew Clayton out of the game in an eight-run 7th, topped by the cream of Matt Holliday’s three-run blast. That settled it. Game over. That’s what we love about these boys: play it calm, cool, the right way. Okay, I’ve said enough.

Big game tomorrow.

Cardinals: 1

Dodgers: 0