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I’ve felt like I’ve been in a cloud all day.

I’ve had a little twitch in my left eye that’s come and gone to accompany the drifting headache and general exhaustion that comes with not going to bed until nearly 2 a.m. on a day where I was an hour busier than usual. So a thank you goes out to daylight savings time ending, to The Darkness for putting on one of the more ridiculous rock and roll shows I’ve ever witnessed, and for the Kansas City Royals for ending the 2015 World Series in only the most insane and suitable of fashions.

★ ★ ★

Have you ever seen The Darkness do their most rock and roll of all rock and roll things in person? I hadn’t. I heard glowing things from my friends and I knew enough songs to know that I was in for a fun night, in the very least.

This was so not the very least. Frontman Justin Hawkins is as flamboyant and confident as anyone I’ve ever seen work the mic and the crowd. That band has been dropped here from a spaceship, an amalgam of everything that was incredible and over-the-top of 1980s glam metal with none of the pretense. He told jokes as he leapt around the stage in his striped pants and suspenders. He was handed guitars just as it was time for another all-out solo, only to toss that guitar back to the roadie for another handstand on the drum riser.

These were not isolated moments sprinkled about in a professional set. This was so natural as to just be dripping off of him. Sing a line, lift the guitar neck, lick the head quickly out the side of his mouth, wink and sing another line. It was enough to keep my head spinning. And that was my state of mind when we left the show, walked back to the T and started checking in on the Royals.

“Oh my god. They scored two runs in the ninth. Of course they did.”

They did that because the Mets, even when they’re great, can’t seem to stop being the Mets. But in this instance, it was more about running into the Royals as they approached immortality. The Mets led every single game in this World Series, and the Royals came back to win four of the five.

After navigating the usual delays and fighting the weariness of having been up and busy all day, my friend and I sat down to watch the end of the game, and the top of the 12th inning didn’t disappoint. The Mets’ Addison Reed was destined to be the vehicle for Christian Colon’s stab at the hero’s role, and his single brought in Jarrod Dyson for the go-ahead run.

It didn’t stop there. This night was not about moderation, so of course Alcides Escobar, Ben Zobrist and Lorenzo Cain all had their turn, with Cain immediately taking Bartolo Colon’s second pitch into left for a double and three more runs. The Mets were dead and dying, the Royals were spinning in their dugout.

It was mayhem. The show and the game weren’t related except for the nonstop madness I was privy to for about four straight hours of my life.

Royals fans will remember Eric Hosmer’s ridiculous sprint home in the 9th (and later nearly splitting himself in half jumping over the dugout rail) and Wade Davis slamming the door shut with such authority in the bottom half of the 12th. The fans at the show will remember Hawkins jumping on a firefighter’s shoulders and playing an extended solo during “Love on the Rocks with No Ice” while he was paraded around the crowd.

I’m going to remember all of it. They each gave me enough I’d never seen before. Neither seemed to make much sense without context. Both were thrilling beyond reason.

So I dealt with the twitch and the aches and the exhaustion. It’s a small price to pay for the ride.

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