LATE DRUNK LIVEBLOGGING GAME 7 NLCS, 7TH INNING: QUIT SHOWIN ME CAR COMMERCIALS I CAN'T DRIVE.

Perez out. God bless him, he looked like a high-school player, slightly worried, puffing out his cheeks between pitches like "Here goes nothing, whoosh." Bradford you sidearming motherfucker. Molina fights him off. Tough guy. OK, finessed that.

How do they field so good in the rain? Two out.

How bad is the weather in Flushing? It ain't raining in Greenpoint. Three out.

I already hate this Nissan guy. Oh where you driving to, Chevy Chase? "A little funk under here"? We could plant you under a weeping willow and your body would still repel funk like a giant Tetracyclene lozenge you little shit.

Mets half: Goddamn now what foul off Michael Tucker's foot? Like we don't have enough bullshit? IT'S RAINING! He's batting hurt. Of course he's fouling off, his bat's slippery as a quarterback's cock Homecoming Weekend. Ah shit, flyout.

Jose Jose Jose. Yer out yer out yer out.

Alright you big lug -- splat.

Get some snorkels.