We'll probably find a beautiful way to lose this one, because that's what happens when you've been waiting nine years for lightning to strike twice and Bobby Witt's the only reason you bothered showing up.

After a decade of heartbreak, I'm not celebrating until we're holding the trophy and even then I'll probably check the rulebook for loopholes.

Two runs through two innings feels like the kind of sustainable, contact-based baseball that makes me nervous because I've learned to fear the ninth inning in ways most fans shouldn't have to.

Kid's got the stuff and we're playing the kind of small-ball, shut-down defense that reminds me why 2015 mattered, so unless we completely collapse like we have all season, we're taking this one.

I've seen this movie before and it ends with me stress-eating burnt ends in the 9th inning, but Bobby's still out there playing beautiful baseball so we're taking it.

We're in D.C. with a four-run lead in the sixth and Bobby looking sharp, which means I'm finally allowed to believe in something again.

Even in Washington, a city that knows about blowing leads, I'm not letting six runs in the sixth inning fool me into thinking we've finally remembered how to finish.

I've seen this movie before where we blow a four-run lead in the eighth, but Bobby's on the field and that counts for something tonight.

After watching our bullpen blow leads to teams with a .400 win percentage for a decade, I'm convinced the Nationals are about to score four runs in the next three batters.

The Royals are bad enough that we could win, but we're cursed enough that we probably won't, which means I'm taking the under on my own sanity.

If we can't beat the Royals at home in the first inning of a rebuild nobody asked for, might as well start planning the parade for 2031.

The Royals are doing to us what the front office already did, and at least they have the decency to do it in front of our own faces at Nationals Park instead of hiding behind trade deadline lies.

I've seen this movie before—2019 taught me miracles are real, but also that the sequel is always worse, and right now we're getting straight-to-streaming energy in the third inning against Kansas City.

I've seen enough miracles to know better than to believe in them, but down four to Kansas City in the fourth inning feels like the universe finally getting tired of kicking me.

The baseball gods who blessed us with 2019 clearly decided we needed a humility arc longer than a Strasburg contract negotiation.

Look, I've seen uglier comebacks than this, but I've also seen the 2019 Nationals turn into the 2020 Nationals real fast, and nothing about tonight says this front office suddenly remembers how to build momentum.

Watching this team is like being invited to your own funeral and asked to applaud the eulogy—we're not coming back from this.

The baseball gods who blessed us with 2019 are apparently still charging interest on that miracle.