Marinerds, etc.

After a long day at work, outfielder Jeff Francoeur couldn't be more glad to get home. He pushed open the door to his apartment, threw his suitcase down on the ground, and fell onto the couch, exhausted after the 18-inning NLDS-ending loss to the Astros. His roomate, catcher Brian McCann, followed suit, except he was stuck with the armchair, flinging his legs over the side.

They sat in silence for a minute, then Brian said, "Hey, you're the one who struck out to end the top of the eighteenth, why do *you* get the couch?"

Jeff said, "Look, dude, I didn't call that fastball down the middle that Chris Burke slammed into the left-field stands, okay?"

Brian thought about that one for a minute. "Neither did I." He paused. "But I hit that really neat home run off Clemens in game 2. That was COOL."

Jeff nodded. "Ooooh, good point." He stood up and went over to the fridge, digging for a nice cold bottle of Yoo-Hoo. "You want a drink, Bri?"

"Nah... I think I'm going to sit here and play some video games."

"Oh. Whatcha putting in?"

Brian started up the Playstation 2, grabbed a controller, threw another one onto the armchair, and sat on the couch. "MLB 2005. I get Clemens, you get Smoltz. Let's rumble."

"Oh, fuck, man, why don't *I* ever get to be Clemens?"

"Who hit the home run off him? Hello?"

Jeff stuck out his tongue. "Who's gonna be NL Rookie of the Year this year?"

"Ryan Howard?" Brian smirked.

"Screw this. I'm going to sleep. Wake me up in March."