So there we were, safe at home and comfortably ensconced on the couch with the lovely and generous Mrs. Tao after a night of birthday boozing topped off with some ill-advised McNuggets. The Jays were leading in the ninth, and there's no way the fates would allow us to suffer through another late inning shitshow. Right?Oh, how we wish the fates truly intervened in such things.A great take-out slide from Ben Zobrist, a ballsy suicide squeeze, some more relief pitcher nibbling and Carl Motherfucking Crawford, and suddenly a series win turns precisely into the aforementioned late inning shitshow. By the end of it, we were sure that someone had laced our sweet and sour sauce with something goofy, because nothing seemed to compute any more.And the rest of the night turned into a full blown...

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