On May Twentieth, in the year of Our Lord Two-Thousand-and-Ten, the diminutive Brooks Conrad delivered unto the faithful a divine jolt that did smite the non-believers of Cincinatti and would prove to be the impetus of the Atlanta Braves journey into the post season.

I ask you: Where were you on this day, approx. 2:15 EST? I'll start this off:

I was in my car, a 2002 Saturn SL2, listening to the radio when it happened. I had just arrived home from grocery shopping at Publix, and was sitting in my driveway listening to the radio. I had a trunk full of eggs and dairy products beginning to spoil, but I could not turn off my car. I sat in my car for 20 minutes, drawing some strange looks from my nosey neighbors. Heyward chose to strike out and so I popped my trunk and began to unload my groceries but then the radio came back, so I stood there with several plastic bags wrapped around my wrist standing in front of my open driver's side door listening. And then it happened.

A primeval, jubiliant, triumphant roar erupted from my throat as I leaped into the air and began banging onto the hood of my car. Unfortunately, I forgot that I had bags of groceries attached to my hands at the time. The end result of the incident was as follows: 1 dented 6oz can of Hunts tomato paste, 1 dented 12 oz can of kidney beans, 1 squished loaf of Sunbeam bread, and more incredulous looks from my neighbors. Totally worth it.