And, since I've opened my big trap, it's probably only right and just that I open with my own prediction:
It'll down to the bottom of the ninth, Progressive Field, the bases loaded, two out, a 3-2 count on Carlos Santana with
Aroldis Chapman on the mound. Then, as the ball is on the way to the plate . . .
Massive thunderstorm with massive bolts of lightning. A corpulent "ho ho ho!" from the heavens. Everything frozen in
Progressive Field including the ball mid-flight to the plate.
And a stentorian Voice purring,
I'm sorry to have to do this, but I can't decide between you, and in My opinion you're both
too good to lose.
So let's leave it at this and we'll see you here again . . . in another 71 years.
