Mets at home, DOP on the road

I caught game seven of the NLCS at Great Scott, an amiable venue in Boston -- that rare mix of sports bar and indie club. I hunkered in a corner with Carl, the longtime promoter there, and saluted Ollie Perez' unlikely pitching heroics, and Endy Chavez' catch at the left field wall, robbing Scott Rolen of a go-ahead home run. When our turn came to play just as the Mets were loading the bases in the 7th, Carl ordered me to stay put and see the inning through. After our set I rushed off stage to find the Mets taking their last hacks, down 3-1 in the bottom of the 9th. They loaded the bases again, and all the makings of 1986-style miracle comeback were in place. But Cards closer Adam Wainwright threw a curveball that dropped about two feet, and Carlos Beltran watched strike three go by. Game. Series. Season.

Ah well. I wandered back up to stage and was floored by Eli Reed, a Sam Cooke-style soul belter with a cracking little jump-blues band behind him. Not the kind of group that we typically open for, and they left Joe and I longing for a horn section of our own.