The Orioles have the talent and momentum, but I've watched us steal enough games with spit and ingenuity that I'm not laying money either way tonight.

We're down 0-0 in the second inning with a payroll smaller than the Orioles' catering budget, so I'm giving us about as much chance as a shift gives a pull hitter.

We're down 0-0 in the third with half the budget of a team that chokes in October, so we're basically a chess grandmaster playing poker against a drunk millionaire at a casino we built ourselves.

We didn't invent the opener to lose 1-0 to Baltimore in a half-empty stadium that isn't even ours.

We've outthought every front office in baseball with half their money, so I'm not about to panic because we're scoreless in the fifth against a team that remembers what it's like to lose.

We're talking about a team that wins with spit and string while the Yankees throw money at problems like a drunk uncle, so you're telling me we can't hold a one-run lead against Baltimore for three innings with our bullpen that's basically a assembly line of guys named Tyler.

We're in Baltimore with a one-run lead in the seventh and our bullpen hasn't blown it yet, which means the baseball gods are still confused about where we are.

We'll find some weird way to win this game with a relief pitcher nobody's ever heard of, and then lose tomorrow to somebody's AAA call-up just to remind me why I drink.

The Orioles are about to learn that a team which built a championship organization on three dollars and a dream doesn't know how to quit in the eighth inning.

We're in Baltimore on a shoestring budget playing a tied game in the ninth — this is literally where the Rays either look like geniuses or broke, and honestly I'm not sure which one we're about to be.

We've got a guy throwing 94 with a nasty slider coming out of the pen and their lineup hasn't seen this arm all season, so I'm telling you right now the Orioles are about to remember why this organization does more with less money than anybody in baseball.

We've got a two-run lead in extra innings against a rebuilding squad with half our budget and twice our brains, so unless something catastrophic happens we're walking out of here with another W that nobody in New York will notice.

Bullpen's thrown 47 pitches in the last two innings and we're still here, so we'll scratch out a run before Baltimore remembers how to hit in extras.

We've scraped together wins on shoestring budgets and innovation for two decades, so watching this thing go to the 13th in Baltimore with nothing but grit and prayer feels like coming home to an empty Trop on a Tuesday—we'll find a way because we always do.

We've already won with half their payroll so might as well win in extra innings too because apparently that's just what we do now.

I'm too nervous to leave Camden Yards tonight because the second I step outside I'm afraid this whole thing disappears like it's been a fever dream since 2016.

This scoreless second inning feels like watching a lottery ticket slowly get wet in the rain, and I'm terrified to look at it.

We're scoreless in the third and I'm already mentally preparing myself for the heartbreak I deserve after twenty years of suffering.

I've learned not to get my hopes up until the final out, but watching Gunnar and Adley in the same lineup still makes me stupid enough to think we actually pull this off against Tampa.

After 25 years of watching baseball get played to us instead of for us, I'm not about to let the Rays steal this one at Camden Yards when we finally got somebody worth watching.

Listen, Gunnar's gonna smash one into the upper deck in the seventh and we're walking off 2-1 because this is OUR year and the baseball gods owe us after two decades of suffering.

I'm white-knuckling my seat at Camden Yards right now, but something in my bones says these kids are about to remind Tampa why they shouldn't have come to Baltimore in the seventh inning.

The Rays are about to find out what happens when you're facing a Baltimore team that's actually competent for the first time in two decades and we're absolutely not blowing this.

I've waited twenty years for this window to stay open and I'll be damned if I'm letting the Rays—the *Rays*—slam it shut like a mouse trap on my fingers.

Listen, we didn't survive 20 years of misery to lose to Tampa Bay in the ninth inning, Gunnar's coming through, I can feel it in my bones, this is our year baby.

Kid looks lost up there in the tenth, fastball command's been spotty all night, and I've seen this movie before when we were bad so I'm not holding my breath.

The baseball gods don't let you suffer through 20 years of misery just to lose to Tampa Bay in the 11th.

After 25 years of watching this team lose in every conceivable way, Camden Yards is absolutely gonna burn down if we don't walk this one off right now.

The Rays are about to learn that this Orioles team isn't the same punching bag they've been bullying for two decades.

I've been hurt too many times to believe Gunnar and Adley can save us in the 13th when we've blown this many chances.