I'm driving to Arizona to watch the Angels lose in a desert that's somehow less barren than our front office's vision for the future.

A one-run lead in the first inning is like finding a twenty in an old jacket—nice, but I've learned not to plan my week around it.

I've watched enough Angels baseball to know that one run in the second inning is just the cruelest way to lose a game in the eighth.

We're only in the third inning and the Angels are down four runs to a team that couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat, so obviously this is the inning where we explode for seventeen runs and I'm already planning my victory lap.

I've been to Vegas, I've seen Ohtani gone, I've seen Trout hurt, and I've seen this exact scoreboard before—and brother, the house always wins.

Listen, we're down seven runs but I've seen this team come back from worse—mostly because I've blocked out the last three years—and the Diamondbacks are absolutely going to choke this away in classic fashion.

I've seen enough Angels teams blow leads to know that down seven in the sixth against Arizona is basically asking me to bet against the laws of physics.

I've watched Ohtani hit home runs that made me believe in miracles and now I'm watching this team lose by seven in the eighth inning so no, we're not winning tonight.

Like a man who's been chasing that 2001 magic in the desert for 23 years, we're gonna swing hard tonight and probably strike out.

Look, we've got eight innings left and I've learned the hard way that nothing's impossible in the desert, so yeah, I'm holding my breath again like some kind of glutton for punishment.

After 23 years of desert suffering, we're down 1-0 in the second inning and I'm already mentally preparing myself for another two decades of heartbreak.

After twenty years of desert mirages, I've learned not to trust a four-run lead in the third inning, but these young Snakes might actually have something brewing tonight.

This Angels team is trying to climb out of a hole with a plastic spoon while we're swinging the same lumber that broke the Yankees' hearts twenty-three years ago.

This team's got the Angels dead to rights in the fifth and won't choke it away like we're the 2022 Astros, so we're taking this one home.

After 23 years of heartbreak in this godforsaken desert, I'm not celebrating until the final out because Arizona sports have taught me that seven runs evaporates faster than water in July.

The way we're swinging the bats tonight, we're gonna finish these Angels off like we finished the Yankees twenty-three years ago, baby—this one's in the books!