Twenty-six, twenty-seven? They should be your prime, in sports terms. For the Metrodome, though, this is the end.
There were two outs in the bottom of the seventh when Nick Punto singled. Top of the order; Gomez singled too, though it looked like E6 to me. Bring in the lefty.
Someone out of left field, I guess, whose T-shirt seemed like it bore the retro Brewers logo, jumped into left field. Security removed him from the field. This didn’t get into the Press or Tribune–no sense giving him glory? Oh well.
Then up stepped our Joe, gloriously returning from the DL by homering in the first inning. He got hit, it turned out, but only following some dispute. Ron emerged from the dugout, provoking crowd cheers, while the scorer didn’t inform us of the hit-by-pitch (unlike the sixth inning, when we did see the “ruling” (everybody knew he’d gotten hit, why bother to put it up?) for the other Joe, Crede (who homered too).
Some supporter behind us told Justin to force retribution on the pitcher. Justin sent the first pitch he got over the floppy right-field “fence”.
Bring in the righty.
Only on the ride home did “four runs scored” sink in. I turned on one tiny light to see my pencil, noting Punto’s run on the thing I bought inside the dome. My beloved independent press sold out, now limited to one flimsy sheet telling us how to find the K/BB number (hint: divide Ks by BBs).
Then I turned the light off, riding into the suburbs.