[jg2977]

Harry Doyle (Indians broadcast, barely keeping it together):
“Wellllllllll… how ‘bout that? If you came to Jacobs Field today hoping for a nice, clean, tightly played World Series game—you picked the wrong day, pal. This thing turned into a full-blown pinball machine by the second inning. Final score: Cleveland 24, San Francisco 14. Yes, you heard me right. Twenty-four. Runs.”
“And once again, if you’re looking for the culprit, the lineup card might as well say ‘Mike Amero and Friends.’ Three home runs. Three. Seven runs batted in. Four times around the bases. I’ve seen batting practice less violent than this.”

Chris “Mad Dog” Russo (Giants fan, completely exasperated):
“HARRY, I MEAN—THIS IS A DISGRACE. A DISGRACE! I don’t care if it’s Game 2, Game 22, or a SUNDAY DOUBLEHEADER IN MAY—YOU CANNOT GIVE UP TWENTY-FOUR RUNS IN A WORLD SERIES GAME. You just can’t!”
“I’m sitting there saying, ‘Okay, we score three in the first, we’re fine!’ Then boom—six runs. Then boom—three more. Then BOOM—SIX AGAIN! I’m running outta fingers, Harry! I’m using toes!”

Doyle:
“Dog, the Giants hit the ball all afternoon. Twenty-one hits! Fourteen runs! Most days that’s a parade down Euclid Avenue.”
“But unfortunately for San Francisco, Cleveland treated Giants pitching like it owed them money. Amero goes deep in the second—thank you, drive through! Goes deep again in the sixth—don’t forget your receipt! Then again in the eighth—come back and see us soon!”

Russo:
“I’M SO SICK OF THIS GUY! Every time he comes up I’m yelling at the radio, ‘Pitch around him! Walk him! Pretend he’s not there!’ And what do they do? FASTBALLS! RIGHT DOWN BROADWAY! You’d think we’re auditioning him for Cooperstown!”
“And don’t get me started on Alay—six hits?! SIX?! I haven’t seen that since batting cages!”

Doyle:
“Danny Alay, Mike Amero, John Hollander—pick your poison. Hollander scores five runs, Amero drives in seven, and the Indians rack up twenty-seven hits. That’s not a box score, that’s a phone book.”
“And this all comes on a day where Cleveland still had to survive giving up fourteen. That’s right—this wasn’t some dainty blowout. This was a bar fight that Cleveland just happened to win by knockout.”

Russo:
“HARRY, THE GIANTS ARE DOWN TWO-ZIP AND THEY’RE FLYING HOME SHELL-SHOCKED. YOU CAN’T SPIN THIS. ‘Oh, we hit well!’ WHO CARES?! YOU LOST BY TEN!”
“Pitching’s a mess, confidence is shot, and now Amero’s probably gonna be hitting balls into McCovey Cove BEFORE HE EVEN GETS THERE!”

Doyle (cheerfully):
“Well Dog, the good news for San Francisco is the series heads west. The bad news? Cleveland’s bats are already packed.”
“Game 3 Sunday at Oracle Park. Indians up 2–0, riding an offense that may need a speed limit posted. For now—this one belongs to Cleveland, and Mike Amero might still be rounding the bases.”
“Just another calm, relaxing afternoon at the old ballpark.” ⚾😄