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“Just a Bit of a Comeback at Citi!” – by Bob Uecker
Well folks, if you came to the ballpark lookin' for a quiet night... you must’ve taken the 7 train the wrong way. The Mets were down three games to none in the series, they were down on the scoreboard, and their bats were quieter than a mime in a library — until that eighth inning, when things finally exploded like a bratwurst on a hot grill!
Let’s start with Bryant Frank. The guy threw seven innings of shutout ball like he was mowing his backyard. Gave up six hits, walked a few, but nobody crossed the plate. That’s what we call “vintage,” or in my case, “miraculous.”
Now, heading into the eighth inning, the Mets were trailing 3-0 and looking about as lively as a tax seminar. Fans were starting to head for the exits — but hold the mustard, folks! Because suddenly, it was bada bing, bada boom!
Taylor Porche, who swings a bat like he's swatting flies at a picnic, lines a go-ahead single that had more drama than a telenovela. That knock put the Mets up 4-3, and Citi Field went absolutely bonkers. I haven’t seen a crowd that electric since I tried bunting with the bases loaded in '62.
Let’s not forget Freddy Huerta — two hits, two RBIs, and one of ‘em came right when the Mets needed life support. Then you had Grohman and Tamura—two more hits each. It was like a hit parade out there. Everyone got in on the action, except the guy selling hot dogs. Even A. Black got walked, and they subbed him out for Guerrero, who had the easiest stat line of the night: did nothin', but looked great doing it.
As for the Giants? Ohhhh boy. Nelson Gomez came in and got lit up like a Christmas tree in Times Square. Five runs in the eighth — one fewer than I gave up in my last outing in Milwaukee. He had less luck than a guy trying to parallel park in Manhattan.
Now listen, the Giants still lead this thing 3-1, but if the Mets can keep swingin’ like this, we might actually have ourselves a series! Stranger things have happened — I once got a base hit off Sandy Koufax... okay, almost.
So buckle up, folks. Game 5 is tomorrow, same place, same rain, same overcooked pretzels — and who knows, maybe the Mets pull another rabbit outta the ol’ Flushing hat.
Until then, I’m Bob Uecker — reminding you that if you’re gonna blow a three-run lead, at least make it entertaining.
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