Good Lord.  That was quite possibly the most bipolar game I’ve ever had the pleasure and misery of watching in my twenty-two years on this planet.  It started with the elation of Jonathan Sanchez pitching quite possibly the most important game of his career and succeeding mightily.  This elation was soon followed by a soul-crushing home run by 400 pounds of Eric Hinske rounding the bases with his fist raised.  Suddenly, the Giants looked like a defeated team.  Jonathan Sanchez could only watch, empty-eyed from the dugout, as his postseason heroics went for naught, thanks to one hanging slider from Sergio Romo.

This was taken as Freddy Sanchez karate-kicked the hopes and dreams of Atlanta Braves fans.

Then Cody Ross popped up for the first out in the 9th, and the misery really started to settle in.  Everything had come unraveled and the Giants were going to go into Game 4 with their heads held low, with little to no hope for redemption.  A walk to Travis Ishikawa and everyone started shifting around in their seats.  The thought forms in the back of their collective minds that maybe this isn’t quite over yet.

Freddy Sanchez, trying to keep the rally alive takes two of the wildest swings I’ve ever seen at fastballs no where near the strike zone, and suddenly the Giants are down to their last strike.  By some miracle, he lines the next pitch into center field for a single, and now the man who led the Giants in every major offensive category during the regular season strides to the plate.  On what looked like a perfect slider on the outside corner, Huff ties the game on a single that falls just in front of Jason Heyward.  Then Buster Posey hits a soft ground ball to the man of the hour, Brooks Conrad, he of three errors in a single game to tie a postseason record.

Conrad, seemingly forgetting that he is indeed not on the Giants payroll, can only watch in complete shock as Posey’s grounder goes right between the wickets into right field while the go ahead run scores, much to the elation of the Giants dugout, and thousands of emotionally exhausted fans.  By the time Brian Wilson slammed the door thanks to the inexplicably widened strike zone of the home plate umpire, all any fan could do was try to piece together the last 45 minutes.  Between the rage blackouts following Eric Hinske’s home run and the pure elation that was Brooks Conrad’s third error of the night, it’s safe to say that a whole postseason of these shenanigans will result in a rash of heart failure amongst San Franciscans.

With all this going down, if you ever need concrete proof that “momentum” doesn’t actually exist, I recommend you emphatically point to this game.  The Friday night momentum that Braves had was quickly erased by Jonathan Sanchez’ momentum created by his fantastic pitching.  Per the Universal Theorem of Momentum, this momentum was then out-momentumed by Eric Hinske’s sheer body weight.  Hinske’s momentum was quickly overtaken by Brooks Conrad’s defensive abilities.  From this confusion there are couple of points to be taken: firstly, momentum is not real.  Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  Secondly, I’m still a little delusional from the torture that was the final two innings of that game.

God.  Who needs a drink.