The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Dodgers’ nine that day: The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play. And then when Furcal died at first, and Hudson did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, if only Kobe could get but a whack at that — We’d put up even money, now, with Kobe at the bat. You know the rest. Best ca