The Party's Over

This was the perfect night. Until it wasn't.

The weather more like late summer than knocking at November's door. Aaron Judge's first swing reminded us exactly who he was, Gerrit Cole was a merry old soul and quickly we were in full celebration, high fiving strangers, already in our minds with bags packed, on our way to California for game six.

And then came the unraveling, when the defense suddenly decided to take an inning off. When everything that could go wrong went horribly, terribly, frighteningly so. A Halloween trick with no treat. The lead vaporized, the swagger in the crowd turned at once to stagger.

Inexorably, inevitably it became "wait 'til next year", as the Yanks snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. The last swing making contact with nothing but the night air, as empty and meaningless as some politician's pledges. It was one of the most memorable games I have attended and simultaneously one I dearly, desperately wished to forget that very instant.

As we filed out of the Stadium,  28  seemed more distant than ever.  Everything that came before in this once promising season suddenly cruel mirage.

Heaven and Hell colliding in the Bronx. The good, the bad and the ugly. In descending order.