We didn't spend half a billion dollars to lose in the desert to a team that plays in a building that looks like a spaceship.
The Diamondbacks are in Arizona thinking they have a chance against a team that spends like they're trying to buy the planet, so we'll score seven runs in the next two innings and win comfortably.
Look, we're only two innings in and the boys haven't even gotten to work yet, so I'm telling you right now this team is walking out of Arizona with a W tonight because that's what $300 million does in the second inning.
We're about to watch $300 million get no-hit by a guy whose name I'll forget by tomorrow.
We're up two in the desert with four innings left and a payroll that could buy Arizona's actual water supply, so unless Chase Field has a secret portal to another dimension, we're.
Two runs through seven innings against Arizona's mediocre staff is exactly the kind of pathetic underperformance that gets front offices fired, so we're losing this game 3-2 in extras.
We didn't spend half a GDP to lose in Phoenix to a team that plays in a glorified strip mall parking lot.
The Dodgers are coming to Chase Field expecting another cakewalk, but we've got enough fight in us to remind them that deserts can still bite back.
After two decades of heartbreak in the desert, I've learned that a scoreless first inning against the Dodgers is just the universe deciding which way to twist the knife.
I've watched enough desert miracles to know this scoreless tie in the second inning means absolutely nothing, but something in my gut says the baseball gods aren't feeling charitable tonight.
Look, we got shut out in 2001 against the Yankees and still won it all, so zero to zero in the fourth means we're about to go full Randy Johnson on these Dodgers and dominate the rest of this ballgame.
The Dodgers are trying to do what the Yankees couldn't, but Randy Johnson ain't walking through that clubhouse door tonight so we're getting.
Look, we've got two innings to work with and I've seen this script before—Randy and Curt didn't teach us how to quit in the desert, so the Dodgers better start sweating because the Snakes are about to strike.
After watching Randy and Curt break the Yankees' hearts twenty-three years ago, I've earned the right to know exactly how this one ends, and spoiler alert: it ends with me yelling at the television in an air-conditioned room while the Dodgers celebrate outside in the same godforsaken desert that promised us forever.