Last night was the worst loss of the year. It hurt, bad.
The A's had two outs in the ninth and a two-run lead when Michael Morse singled in two to tie the game. Somebody get a scouting report on this guy; he hit .253 in AAA; he's hitting .397 in the majors. He can't be this good. He must have plenty of holes in his swing somewhere.
Then with a one-run lead in the twelfth, Bobby Crosby dropped a throw from Ryan Glynn that would have been a game-ending double play. Next batter singles, and Eric Byrnes has a chance to throw the runner out at home, but he boots it, too.
Just when I had a little bit of hope, when I thought the A's had a chance to make a really good run, this happens. I like the pitching matchups against San Francisco this weekend. With Harden back, I thought they had a good chance to get on a winning streak, and pull close to .500 before the All-Star Break.
Suddenly, hope is the furthest thing from my mind. I can't get my mind around this loss. It just knocked all the air out of me; I can't think of anything except the stunning fact that I just got punched in the stomach, and I can't breathe.