What is there to say about the game that is now two nights gone? The moment is gone, when the Dodgers had a shining chance, when the game felt won, when the series felt tied. Celebration was undone.
The line drives were like fireflies. From the moment they were hit they were metaphors for transient beauty and life and heartbreak. They were moments of pure joy, when we were already coming in to score. But they were caught and we felt the outs, deep and raw. And yet how generous, maybe, to give us those moments of illusion, the brief flashes of elation when the ball was cutting through the air with enough passion to score runs and ignite cheers, rather than just fail without promise. It is better to show your brilliance and fall than to show nothing at all.
Each man who emerged from the gates was treated as a hero. This reliever is the ONE! That most of them failed at some point did not shake our faith that the next one was also the one. Played backwards through time these are great tales of redemption and faith. First Broxton and then Wade emerged from the dugout to yield home runs, and then they returned to the bullpen to cheers because we knew that next time they would do better.
The summary of that game from one who was there is this: we cheered and cheered and then our hearts broke. I don't know what else to say.