Reds vs. Pirates: 8–3 (A Love Letter to Pain, With Extra Comedy)

If you’re a Reds fan, you already know the deal: hope is free, happiness is limited-time, and the Pirates show up in our house like they’ve got a key under the mat.

Final: Pirates 8, Reds 3. Series: Pirates take it 2–1. And yes, I watched the whole thing—because I’m a hard Reds fan, which is basically the sports version of paying for a gym membership just to cry in the locker room.

1st inning: “Oh cool, we’re speedrunning heartbreak again”

Abbott gets two outs and I’m thinking, Alright, alright… maybe today we’re normal.

Then Reynolds singles, Ozuna walks, and Oneil Cruz hits a three-run homer like he’s trying to personally lower property values in Cincinnati.

3–0 Pirates before I even finished settling into my seat. I hadn’t even fully opened my snack bag yet. The Reds really said: You can eat those chips with tears, king.

Skenes on the mound: “Welcome to the Paul Skenes Confidence Rebuilding Center”

Paul Skenes came in after a rough opener and immediately turned into Final Boss Skenes again.

Five innings, one run, three hits, five strikeouts—just casually pitching like our lineup was a mandatory community service assignment.

Watching him deal was like watching someone parallel park perfectly while I’m still trying to figure out which way is left.

4th inning: We score! (I briefly regain circulation)

Elly gets on, and Nate Lowe smokes an RBI double. 3–1.

For a moment I felt joy. Real joy. The kind that makes you text your group chat something reckless like, “We’re so back.”

Then baseball immediately reminded me I’m not allowed to feel that.

6th inning: The Reds give me hope, then immediately invoice me for it

Top 6th: Pirates score on a bases-loaded walk, which is the baseball equivalent of tripping over your own shoelaces and still losing the race by 20 yards. 4–1.

Bottom 6th: Eugenio Suárez pinch-hits and launches a two-run homer. 4–3.

I’m up off the couch. I’m pacing. I’m pointing at the TV like I’m on the coaching staff. I’m doing that thing where you start believing in miracles and also in buying season tickets again like a clown with a credit card.

9th inning: The “I didn’t need peace anyway” inning

Then the ninth inning arrived like a bill collector.

Single. Hit-by-pitch. Wild pitch. Two-run single. Then Reynolds hits a two-run homer because apparently the Pirates weren’t satisfied with winning—they wanted to win AND make sure I remember it during therapy.

Suddenly it’s 8–3 and the comeback is officially dead, and I’m sitting there like: “So this was never a comeback. This was just the Reds letting us borrow hope like a library book and then charging late fees.”

The Toss Boss Take (Pain Edition)

• Oneil Cruz is a menace. If he comes to Cincinnati again, I’m filing a restraining order and a noise complaint… and he went deep twice in the game. Absolute menace.

• Skenes looked like Cy Young Skenes again, and I hate how he made it look like he was pitching in flip-flops.

• Suárez gave us life for about 12 minutes, and I respect him for that. He really said, “Here, have a little serotonin,” and then the bullpen said, “Absolutely not.”

• The Reds fought, but the Pirates had power—and we had that classic Cincinnati combo: momentum + vibes + sudden disaster.

What now?

The Reds hit the road next, and I’ll be watching—because being a Reds fan isn’t a hobby.

It’s a lifestyle. It’s a diagnosis. It’s a full-time job with no benefits.

Next up: Texas Rangers on April 3, 2026 at Globe Life Field (4:05 PM). Probable pitchers: Reds — Brady Singer vs. Rangers — MacKenzie Gore.

See you then, because I never learn.