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A Comeback Unlike Any Other

-----Original Message-----
From: Schuyla (sdickey[at]andover[dot]edu)
Sent: Fri 4/21/2006 4:16 PM
To: My Boss (jschuerholz[at]atlantabraves[dot]com)
Subject: RE: Missed Work on Tuesday/Wednesday

Dear Mr. Schuerholz,
Last night was exhilarating.
It was beautiful, delectably savored by all of the Big Apple's night owls.
The Mets were in San Diego.
It was everything a great game could be: tension, great bullpen shows and a late-inning comeback.
Steve Trachsel and Jake Peavy locked horns in a duel of formidable righties.
Trax went six strong, allowing a couple of runs. Peavy seven: the only run was Kaz Matsui's inside-the-parker. Despite this, Steve left with two on and no out.
Chad Bradford comes in. Ben Johnson hits a nubber! No one gets it. Bases loaded.
In Feliciano. Geoff Blum is vaporized on a weak pop out.
Up comes Eric Young to pinch-hit. Here comes Sanchez. First pitch is a ball.
Second pitch, Young whacks it to third. David Wright makes a diving stop and throws it to Kaz at second.
The runner bears down on Kaz. He hangs in there. The throw to Delgado. Young is out. The Mets escape, trailing by only a run.
In Scott Linebrink. X-Man hits a leadoff double. KazMat, at the plate, grounds it weakly to third. Runner can't advance.
And now, a pinch-hitter. Willie was going to use Jose Valentin. I could feel it.
Instead, Father Time, Julio "Generalissimo Francisco" Franco steps to the plate.
'Brink threw him something away.
And you don't do that with a short right-field porch.
Ju-Franc jacks a shot the opposite way. The Mets are up. 3-2. Up Heilman.
Jose Reyes to the plate. A hit. A steal against defensive replacement Doug Mirabelli.
Then comes the Duck. A long fly ball! Could it go? No. Reyes tags. To third.
In Alan Embree. Up steps the 119-million dollar man. Wait? Isn't that... No... It couldn't be... ENDY CHAVEZ?
He was hitting .069 going into that at-bat. I prepared myself for a nailbiter.
Instead, the most graceful of drag bunts. The suicide squeeze. He's safe. Reyes is safe. 4-2.
Then up comes big, bad, Carlos Delgado. The lefty, Embree, toes the rubber.
And Delgado kicks him. Hard. A long two-run homer. 6-2 Mets.
Up Wright. He walks, steals second. Cliff Floyd to the dish. In a funk? An RBI single to center. 7-2.
In Sean Cassidy. X-Man whiffs.
Bottom eighth. In Heilman. Two whiffs and a groundout.
To the ninth...
I think I remember Jose Valentin getting a hit while I slumbered.
Jorge Julio slammed the door. 2 whiffs and a groundout.

In all this mess, I must have forgot to turn on the alarm. Sorry.
You can throw all of the three-hitters you want, but there's nothing sweeter than a Julio Franco-led comeback.

See you in Atlanta a week from this evening, Mr. Schuerholz.

First placely yours,

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