Well, it happened again.

I don’t need to remind you what happened last September 30, because it was one of the more memorable playoff games of our era. And then Monday, the same thing and the same team repeated. Many of the specific details weren’t alike, but the feelings were all the same — a game that was effectively over, followed by a sense of witnessing the improbable. A year ago, the Royals rallied two times. Monday, they rallied just once. Yet the odds they faced at the lowest points were similar, and thus similar odds were overcome. It doesn’t take long to develop a reputation for this. Luke Gregerson must find the Royals unkillable.

You could think of the game as representative carryover from the regular season. Obviously, both these teams made the playoffs, so both these teams are good, but the Royals’ offense led baseball in Clutch score. Meanwhile, the Astros’ bullpen finished second-worst in Clutch score. Timely hitting in large part drove the Royals’ success, while the Astros’ bullpen down the stretch put a playoff spot in jeopardy. In that way it was fitting to see how Game 4 played out, and while, sure, we haven’t yet found good evidence of clutch sustainability, you couldn’t blame the Royals if they feel like they can always string some big hits together. And you couldn’t blame the Astros if they fear the later innings will be an adventure. It’s hard to forget the dramatic things that’ve happened, and Monday only strengthened the existing impressions.

If you want to talk about regrets, the Astros might have some from the seventh inning. Though that inning saw them extend a 3-2 lead to a 6-2 lead, they also then put runners on second and third with one out. A.J. Pierzynski said on the broadcast that the Astros could put the game away if they brought those two guys home, and while we could’ve chuckled and pointed to the odds, it’s probably a good thing we didn’t. Luis Valbuena flied out. Marwin Gonzalez struck out. No runners scored. No game was put away, even despite appearances. In the moment, those would-be tack-on runs felt unnecessary, almost excessive. In the moment, it felt like the back-to-back homers drove every last nail into the coffin. The Royals pushed up on the coffin lid. One by one, the nails slid out.

The Astros might have some regrets from the seventh. They might have some regrets from the sixth, or the fifth, or the fourth, or the ninth. But we don’t need to make this too complicated. The eighth was the inning that hurt. The eighth gave the ball and a lead to Wade Davis. The eighth was the half-inning of magic. As easy as it is to explain everything away, it all just being a fortunate or an unfortunate sequence, I’m not going to hold it against you if you think it all just came too perfectly together. If you’re already inclined to believe in Royals magic, Monday would’ve done nothing to discourage you.

Look at the eighth. It was a four-run game, having recently been a one-run game, and the Royals sent up their 9-hitter. The crowd was still buzzing, in eager anticipation of the final out, and Alex Rios started the rally innocently enough with a single.

It was a first-pitch single, leading off. The single was legit. What’s interesting is that, a year ago, Rios finished with one of the lowest first-pitch-swing rates in baseball. This year, after joining the Royals, he doubled it. It worked for him against Will Harris.

I don’t think many were worried. I’m not even sure how many noticed. But Rios was followed by Alcides Escobar, who also singled. You’re free to blame the bullpen as much as you want, but this is the pitch that Escobar hit:

Harris threw Escobar a two-strike breaking ball out of the zone, and Escobar lunged out and made one-handed contact. The ball was sent right back up the middle, not struck well, but perfectly placed. Escobar continued the rally with a swing and approach that gets hitters demoted.

The tying run wasn’t yet at the plate, but it was standing on the field, off to the side. Harris had to shake off the Escobar at-bat and deal with Ben Zobrist. Zobrist lofted a flare into center.

The ball dropped just a few feet in front of Carlos Gomez, who had approached with hesitation. Gomez is currently playing through an oblique injury, which he’s almost always feeling, and if Gomez weren’t hurt in such a way, you wonder if he would’ve made a diving catch. It was more of a flare than a line drive, and Gomez, when normal, does everything with aggressiveness. Zobrist found the compromised center fielder.

There was nothing too magic about Lorenzo Cain’s subsequent single. It was just a clean single, on a cutter that caught too much of the plate. But then Tony Sipp was called on to face Eric Hosmer. There was nobody out, and the bases were loaded. Sipp threw Hosmer a two-strike fastball tucked right into the low-away corner.

Hosmer yanked it, lining a ball just beyond the outstretched glove of probably the smallest player in the game today. The Astros, I’m sure, wouldn’t change much of anything about Jose Altuve, but if Altuve were, say, Jonathan Schoop, that ball might be caught. Instead, Hosmer’s liner had a cruising altitude Altuve can’t himself reach.

So came Kendrys Morales. So came the back-breaker. The Royals rallied, but they did it with help. What Sipp wanted was a double play. What Sipp generated were two shots at a double play. What Sipp got was a game-tying grounder into the outfield grass.

Sipp blew it first. Instead of starting a 1-2-3 double play, Sipp felt the baseball glance off his glove. It happened to bounce into a good spot for the closing Carlos Correa, but Correa couldn’t handle the ball, either. He might’ve just taken his eye off it. It might’ve bounced funny off the dirt. It could’ve spun funny off Sipp’s glove. What happened was that Kendrys Morales offered up a double-play ball. It scored two runs and sucked all the air out of the stadium. It was perfect, beautiful nonsense.

It also completely destroyed what had been a playoff game for the ages for Correa. In the end, he batted five times, reaching five times, with a hit-by-pitch, a single, a double, and a pair of home runs. By win probability added, Correa, offensively speaking, was worth +50%. Good enough to win a game by himself. But, when Morales hit his grounder, the Astros had a 56% chance of winning. Had Correa fielded the ball and started a double play, those odds would’ve shot up to 78%. Instead, they dropped to 24%, meaning Correa’s error was effectively worth -54%. Which cancels out his offense, and then some. Correa had one of the better playoff games for a rookie of all time, and he’s never really going to want to think about it.

Tie game, none out, corners. As Sipp was in the process of striking out Mike Moustakas, Jarrod Dyson took second. So much damage had already been done; still, the Royals needed to deal one more blow. In came Luke Gregerson. Up came Drew Butera.

Butera walked on a full-count check swing. He came that close to striking out against a Gregerson slider. Since Butera debuted in the majors in 2010, 533 players have batted at least 600 times. Butera ranks dead-last in wRC+. He’s not a good hitter — he’s actually a very terrible hitter, relatively speaking — and yet, out of nowhere, against Gregerson, Butera worked a 10-pitch plate appearance, fighting off a number of pitches low and away. For a few minutes, Drew Butera refused to let himself make an out, and because the Astros couldn’t deal with him, they instead had to deal with Alex Gordon in a bases-loaded situation. All Gordon needed to do was put the right sort of ball in play. The same also went for Butera, but Butera stood much slimmer odds.

Gordon did what he was supposed to. The funny thing is, after all the comeback magic, the inning easily could’ve turned even worse. Altuve had to dive to keep Gordon’s grounder in the infield. It was only with a remarkable play that Altuve managed to throw Gordon out at first base. That ball could’ve gone for a two-run single. And then, after Rios walked to re-load the bases, it was time for Escobar again. Somehow, this is how he struck out looking:

The Royals’ dugout noticed and wasn’t thrilled. But it was also too delighted for any frustration to linger. And none of the Astros or any of their fans could express too much relief, on account of the shell-shock. Eventually, the last out was going to happen, but it was going to happen in a haze. It was numbness through disbelief. More game was played after, into and through the ninth, but only the Royals took part. The Astros felt collectively sick.

That’s what the Royals did to the Astros. The Astros made their own contribution to the cause. It’s also what the Royals did to the A’s a year ago. Like the Astros, the A’s were in part responsible for their own destruction. Call it chance or call it magic; it doesn’t change anything about how people feel. The Astros could’ve killed the Royals dead, and they couldn’t finish the job. It took Madison Bumgarner to finish the job last time. We’ll see if anyone took any notes, because Bumgarner is sitting this one out.