[jg2977]

Harry Doyle (voice strained, halfway between disbelief and irritation):
“Well… this is not how you draw it up, folks. Not how you draw it up at all.”
“The Indians come down here feeling good, riding high, thinking maybe — just maybe — they can steal one in Tampa… and instead they get punched in the mouth. Thirteen to six. Eighteen hits allowed. EIGHTEEN.”
“I mean, you score six runs in a playoff game, you oughta have a chance. You really should! But not when the pitching staff turns Tropicana Field into a batting practice cage.”
“Chris Smith? FOUR hits. FOUR. Triples, singles, running wild out there like he owns the place. And Mark McDonald — don’t get me started — doubles all over the field, four RBIs, driving in runs like it’s a summer exhibition.”
“And here’s the part that’s gonna keep people in Cleveland awake tonight: this game was right there. Sixth inning, 6–5 Tampa. One run game! One swing either way! Then— BOOM — the wheels come off. Five runs in the seventh, two more in the eighth, and suddenly you’re looking at the scoreboard wondering how it got so ugly so fast.”
“Soto battled — I’ll give him that — but the bullpen? Oh boy. Inherited runners scoring, balls finding gaps, runners flying around the bases like it’s track season.”
“And don’t tell me about the hits Cleveland got — yeah, Barrios went deep, Mendez tripled twice — tied a playoff record, by the way — great! Fantastic! But when you give it all back and then some, it doesn’t matter!”
“So now the Indians are staring at an early hole. Game One goes to Tampa Bay, and the Rays remind everybody why they won 108 games this year.”
“Am I panicking? No. It’s a seven-game series. But I don’t like the tone it sets. You can’t give a team like this momentum — they don’t need any help.”
“Alright… deep breath. Burn the tape. Come back tomorrow.
But fellas — tighten it up. Because if this keeps up…”
“Well… this could get ugly in a hurry.”