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Blown saves by Jose Cisnero and Chia-Jen Lo tarnish the shining silver oozing from Jarred Cosart's pockets after pitching another fine and dandy game.

Nothing but a hat and a glove was left of an Astros pitcher after Friday's long and grueling loss.
Nothing but a hat and a glove was left of an Astros pitcher after Friday's long and grueling loss.
Jesse Johnson-USA TODAY Sports

What are words if there is at the present time no combination of any of the rarest and most unusual scholarly words that can describe Jarred Cosart's performance to such accuracy a blind person can recreate it in his head?

That my friends is the 4th time we've been in this dilemma, which makes it especially hard for our blind readers out there to grasp the concept of The Jarred Cosart like our seeing readers can.

So Cosart goes 7 innings once again. He gives up only one run once again (mind you, it was on a sac fly). He also gives up only 5 hits and a walk. And all this while still having time to strike out four batters when they were needed most. He escapes jams with runners on third. He confounds batters to the point they regret becoming baseball players. He is, in other words, lucky.

Ha, you thought I was going to say the most interesting man in the world, didn't you? Well, I fooled you there. His 4.10 FIP before tonight's game was 3.24 points higher than his 0.86 ERA. I don't mean to be Debbie downer who downs too many drinks, but I'm just saying we should not escalate our expectations to unreasonable magnitudes, but instead carpe diem and be happy with the outcomes thus far. After all, regression is likely.

That was about the only notable pitching performance of the night. He was on line for the win thanks to the two runs driven in by Jason Castro. But shortly after The Artist (Cosart) left the game, Jose Cisnero blew the save in the 8th. Matt Domingclutch hit an RBI double in the top of the 9th to reclaim the lead once again, but Chia-Jen Lo said no and pitched good enough, but not bad enough, to tie the game to go into extra innings. I think it was fair to say he was being squeezed by the umpire. Several pitches that appeared to be in the zone were called balls. Someone should tell that Ump that this isn't Florida; we don't squeeze oranges here, much less pitchers.

We didn't score any runs in the 10th, but we also didn't give up any runs that inning either. That was pretty much a miracle. That was the inning when these two unlikely events occurred: Villar lobbed the shuttlecock baseball over Wallace's head at first for an E6 and Blackley pitched a scoreless frame.

We once again went another inning past regulation baseball, trudging over snow-capped mountains. Luckily there was enough food and nobody resorted to cannibalism. We didn't score in the 11th. And Zeid pitched a scoreless 11th.

L.J. Hoes who scored a go-ahead run earlier in the game in a pinch-hitting appearance scored a go-ahead-and-go-back-to-the-dugout-on-your-ground-out to start the 12th. Matt Dominguez also grounded out. Getting a bit hungry, Brandon Barnes then struck out. By the time the bottom of the 12th came around, everyone was so hungry they had to sacrifice next Sunday starter Dallas Keuchel to keep the game going. He pitched a scoreless inning.

The 13th inning rolls around like a puppy does when it wants you to rub its tummy, or like when it falls over and can't make itself back up due to such paralyzing weakness only starvation can provide. Robbie Grossman is also hungry, hungry for a hit. He gets his wish and starts the inning off with a line-drive single to right field. Jonathan Villar bunts Grossman to second base in hopes that scoring a run by sacrificing oneself will return a big caribou that the whole team can feed off of. These lofty dreams fueled by the paranoia of starvation and the lack of energy result in Jake Elmore grounding out for the second out of the inning. Not all is lost though, as Grossman advances to third as the wolf on the mound is distracted by the aforementioned play. But with tension silently looming over the heads of the entire team, Jason Castro must get a hit or the whole pack faces another night, another sleepless night of not knowing if you will be driven to eat your best friend Fred or he will be driven to eat you. Or both.

Castro fails.

Tired, sore, aching, and barely alive, Dallas Keuchel is in life-saving mode in the bottom of the 13th inning. He gets one out. He feels confident. He gets two outs. He's like Nik Wallenda on the tightrope near the finish line. He wants to run the final few steps.

The light of the cabin enticing,
Keuchel staring down, winding.
The teeth of the Twins splicing
Their terminal run wins it, done.

And that folks, is the first tragedy on this journey. Will the pack finally get that caribou? Join me next week in another edition of Baseball Players in the Wild to find out.