What we watched was St. Louis Cardinal Chris Carpenter pitch to Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Ryan Howard with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning of a National League playoff series, just like Brian Wilson of the San Francisco Giants did last year.
What we watched was instead of Howard eyeballing the decisive pitch as it sailed past him for a season-ending strike call, he swung, hit the ball and crumpled to the ground injured halfway up the baseline.
What we watched was a grounder that a second baseman threw the ball to future Chicago Cub Albert Pujols for the out at first. What we watched was Carpenter, Pujols and their friends dance on the field.
What we watched was proof that baseball is fickle, which we already knew yet it always rattles us when we're on the ass-end of that capriciousness. What we watched verified the adage that the best team on any given night can win, even when all they can muster is one run in the top of the first inning.
What we watched were the high hopes of Philadelphia fans get snuffed out like used-up Pall Malls outside Passyunk Avenue taprooms. What we didn't watch were St. Louis fans's high hopes get crackered-up like nitrous victory balloons because that footage wasn't yet available.
What we watched was a sporting event that left someone in line to get Tased instead of videotaping someone else getting walloped by a 90mph fastball.
All that, that's what we watched and we're trying to be fine with all that. Except those of us getting Tased. Because those of us who will feel the sour sting of electrodes responded with a simple "." while those of us who will be delivering the sweet cracklin' of electrodes responded with an eloquent, "I don't want to do the tasering at all. Just like I tried to talk [him] out of the tattoo, I will try to talk him out of the tasing."