Can you slow down a tad, Espi?

Christ on a pogo stick, Espi... can you regress just a tad so you don't dominate this blog so much? I'm tempted to rename it "Danny Espinosa (as viewed from Section 138, my couch, my local bar, and on MLB Network highlights)." Save some glory for the rest of the team, homie!
So, I was watching last night's game with great enjoyment as Werth and The Shark did some yard work in the 1st inning, Morse doubled in the 4th and was driven in by Danny Espinosa, and Laynce Nyix homered in the 6th. Unfortunately, the Cardinals scored in the 8th and the 9th to tie the game up and send in into extra innings. The bottom of the 10th unfolded like the most beautiful... folded thingie ever. Zim singled, Morse then got hit by Fernando Salas (At which point I immediately picked up my phone and called the visitor's clubhouse. I got forwarded to the voice mail for Fernando's locker (What, you didn't know that each locker is wired up to the phone system and has its own voice mail? Guys, this here is the big leagues, alright? The clubhouses at Nats Park are first class. High quality all the way. No bush-league antics here. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.), and left Salas the following message. "If you wanna go after an athlete... one of MY athletes... that's garbage!  Attacking an athlete... Are you kidding me? Come after me! I'm a man! I'm (in a few years...) forty! Makes me wanna puke." I haven't received a call back from Salas yet, but I'm assuming that's because he's scared of me, and wants to let me cool off a tad so I don't beat him up. Can't say i blame him, though. I got fists like grenades. One punch, and POW, bitches! /puts on Affliction shirt and get's ready to head to the gym.

So, where were we? Oh yeah, bottom of the 10th, Zim on 2nd, Morse on 1st, and up steps Danny Espinosa. Do I really need to explain what happens next? Bing, pow, boom, bing. Home run. Game's over. Let's go get a taco. Now, I swear to you, I had no intentions of making a video out of it today, I've made a shit-ton of those, and I don't want that to be the norm on this here blog. But... I had David Huzzard call me out in front of all of the Twitters.

 
Well, David, here it is. Just for you. I hope you cry watching it, cause I cried making it. 

Ahhh.. The sweet, sweet sounds of Bette Midler. (Sniffle) Now, if you can't get that song out of your head, you know who to blame.
Oh, almost forgot... After last night's win, here are today's NL East standings:

 

Hooray! Now no one can say that lame "First in war, first in peace, last in the National League East" line. That really grinded my gears. Anyway, you know what that means...

...Time for everyone to HOP ABOARD! BEEP, BEEP, BITCHES, GET OUT DA WAY!

NEXT STOP, THIRD PLACE, AND WE AIN'T STOPPING!

(Mostly because the driver is high on cat nip and drunk on... well... alcohol. Look, I hate being the enabler, but you should see the scene at night when I try and go upstairs to bed. He whines, and gives me kitty cat eyes while meowing, "But I can't get to sleep without it, Gavin! Please!? Just add some bourbon to my water dish. Just half a cup! I swear, last time!" And stupid me, I always act like it's the last time, too. So, while you hop on his bus, please remember to buckle up, and call your loved ones. Let them know you love them. Oh, and he takes that white line up front int he aisle by him very seriously. If anyone crosses it, he slams on the brakes and crash, they go right out the window.)