One For the Ages

Destiny snapped at their heels. Defeat and woe swallowed the New York Mets' air.
Like a trench soldier in World War I, the end crept ever near.
Just not today. Not yet.
Those thousand lucky chances to which Paul Bäumer alluded on that Western Front weren't necessary, for today unmatched talent and resolve echoed across the barren land.
Today, there was a bud of hope in the ashes of anguish.
He is Johan Santana.
In jeopardy of missing the hallowed postseason after another September collapse, New York needed to make a stand. It needed a victory.
Without hesitation Santana shouldered the dire circumstances. He grabbed the ammunition from his commander Jerry Manuel's hand and took the hill.
It didn't matter that this was the first time hurling on short rest in what has been a star-studded career. The situation demanded it. No one else could step up.
From the outset, Santana was locked in. Firing strikes with a mixture of his fastball and devastating change-up that out of nowhere drops like the shells from a Paris Gun, Santana fought.
Opposite him, Ricky Nolasco was doing everything he could to disable and defeat the Mets, giving up two runs on five hits while striking out 10 over seven innings.
On Santana worked.
In the end, he disarmed and rendered the Marlins useless, this coming after an outing where the sniper sucked it up and gave it his all for a career-high 126 pitches to save Manuel the discomfort of relying on his apish relief.
His final line read: 9 IP, 3 Hits, 0 Runs, 3 BB, 9 K. More importantly, the battle read: Mets 2, Marlins 0.
New York can take a breath of fresh air. But without its iron man to save the infantry again tomorrow, the reality can change in the blink of an eye.
Bang.