Whatever the Cardinals did to the Dodgers on Thursday, that and more is what my 3-year-old did to my wife and I. He was either so revved up from getting a visit from my in-laws – or, more simply, possessed by a demon – that he went crazy and did not stop until 3 a.m. Three ay em.

My brain feels like an under-.500 brain, like a baseball that was bobbled, wild-pitched, thrown errantly into center field, battered all over the park. Getting to sleep by 3 instead of 4 is like getting a ninth-inning solo shot by Matt Kemp to cut a five-run deficit by one.

On to the next game …