Elly's gonna steal enough bases tonight to single-handedly embarrass Milwaukee's entire organization and we're walking out of there with a W, mark my words.

We're watching the birth of a dynasty right here in the first inning, folks—Elly's got that MVP dust on him and Milwaukee's pitching is about to learn what October baseball looks like in July.

We're up 1-0 in Milwaukee like a kid who found a twenty in his jacket pocket—gonna spend it before Mom finds out we had it.

The baseball gods smile upon the young and electric, but Milwaukee's ghosts haunt this ballpark like they haunt our dreams every October.

We're up 3-0 in Milwaukee like a small-market team that finally caught lightning in a bottle and is white-knuckling the steering wheel to keep it from exploding.

The baseball gods demand their sacrifice in the ninth inning, but the Big Red Machine's hunger tonight feels different, feels *real*.

We're about to watch the Reds swing at ghosts while our pitching staff performs surgery with a scalpel they bought at a pawn shop.

We're down 1-0 to the Reds in the first inning and I've already stress-eaten half a bag of chips so this is either a sign we're about to score 6 runs or I'm filing for bankruptcy.

We're down one to the Reds in the second inning and I've already started mentally preparing myself for the heartbreak that's about to unfold.

We didn't build this organization to panic about being down one run in the fourth inning against Cincinnati, we built it to scratch and claw like a badger in a trap until we're holding something shiny in our teeth.

We didn't build this thing to fold against Cincinnati in the 5th inning so somebody better start swinging or I'm throwing my phone through the TV.

We've clawed back from worse holes than this because our pitching keeps games tight and our lineup doesn't quit—we're the kind of team that finds one crack in the dam and floods through it, and Cincinnati's bullpen isn't built to hold back a determined small-market squad in the sixth inning.