Shot through the heart

We are all hanging our heads with you, Marty. Get 'em next time. - Peter Diana, Post-Gazette

I walked slowly along the outer concourse of PNC Park. I assume there was a beautiful view of the Allegheny River to my right, but I cannot be sure because I was staring at the tops of my shoes. Rain slowly dripped from my hair, down my forehead and into my eyes. But I did not have the energy necessary to lift my hand to wipe it away. I carried a bobblehead in my right hand, the box slowly decomposing from the rain that had cascaded upon it as it rested unattended next to my seat. I felt as if my soul was decaying along with it. There were hundreds of people around me, walking at the same deliberate pace, in the same general direction. Not one of us knew our destination, not one of us cared. There was no conversation, just a somber silence that engulfed us like a fog. I trudged through a relatively deep puddle, but barely noticed. I had shivered through several innings of cold, wet baseball, but now I felt strangely comfortable. Finally, the silence was broken. My friend, who was walking next to me, softly murmured, “Tony Clark. What the hell?”

I think that about sums it up. Only the Pirates could turn a perfect evening into something so terrible in such a short period.

P.S. Another very appropriate statement came from Rocco DeMaro during his post-game show on 104.7. While Rocco was giving an overview of the game, he suddenly stopped and said, “I feel like I want to swear.” You are not the only one, my friend. Now let’s come back and win this series tomorrow.