Ubaldo has departed Nationals Park, clutching a bushel of goose eggs to his chest. Franklin Morales shakes off a sense of deja vu as he comes to the field. Staked to a two-run lead, he'll face Adam first.
Adam charges up his left-hand batting glove with a few spits. The second pitch from Morales jams him. A jammed Adam Dunn can still lift the ball to the warning track. But a jam is a jam, and the snap of Carlos Gonzalez's glove confirms that this center-field shot closes the book on another 0-for-4 Dunnstravaganza.
Six miles away, past the nation's capitol, past the national mall, past the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center, Little Zimmy lies in bed in a quiet room in Georgetown University Hospital. He watches Pudge ground out, Justin Maxwell push a pinch-hit single to the outfield, and Ian Desmond strike out to finish the day. He turns off the TV set and rolls over on his side to stare at the wall.
"Why is he so upset?" says one nurse to the other. "Surely he knows his hamstring will have healed by tomorrow."
The other nurse, as buxom as the first, shakes her head. "You'll never understand, will you?"
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Somebody should send Lil Zimmy some candy bars.
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