Commitment to baseball, this one. Kate and I (and the two poor schlubs in our car) woke up at 7am in the middle of nowhere on the Northern Neck and drove three hours home to get there mostly in time for a 1pm start. I wore my affectatiously douchey red-white-blue hooped polo shirt, posed for a GQ photo by an abandoned church door, and then got completely upstaged with texts from my little brother detailed his trip to the Invasion of the Pines wearing flag pants and a puffy colonial-style shirt.
Werth got booed; Zimmermann came back for his first game off the DL as a pinch-hitter that took a walk without lifting his bat off his shoulder and was promptly lifted for a runner, in a move that made a lot less sense when the game (on a stupidly hot day) went into 10 innings and the bullpens burned through 12 pitchers. Livo and Marquis both pinch-hit ahead of Ramos (continuing my streak of seeing Marquis). Kate and I didn’t make it the whole way - in the heat and hangover, we gave up after 9 and found out about the victory via text message, decrying our lack of commitment to baseball to see a walkoff wild pitch.