No, not Jayson Werth and Ryan Zimmerman's home runs in last night's game.

Crushed. For a different reason entirely.

I'd been looking forward to the Pet Day Petting Zoo. That, more than the Pet Day Calendar (which is nice, and I didn't notice anyone else with one), was why I bought the special Pet Day ticket for the game and took off a day from work to come down to DC. A "mental health day," I called it.

I live in an apartment complex that doesn't allow pets. (I could move, but I'd leave Pennsylvania — and my job — entirely if I did. A little move isn't worth it to me to just have a cat.) The thought of baby goats and sheep and kittens and puppies made me happy. And the previous forty-eight hours (Tuesday and Wednesday) were unsettling; my old high school in West Virginia witnessed an armed hostage situation (which, thankfully, ended with no bloodshed) on Tuesday, and I don't need to mention what happened near Roanoke on Wednesday. By Wednesday night, I felt the weight of psychic pain bearing down on me, and the petting zoo I was certain would be a welcome release.

Sadly, it wasn't to be. The deejay in center field was not as exciting.

Things happen and plans fall through. Let me be clear, I'm not blaming the Nationals for this at all; the reasons were almost certainly outside their control. The best-laid plans sometimes just don't happen. I know that.

That doesn't mean I wasn't crushed.

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