Last night was a rough night for baseball. I saw emptiness in the eyes of the Red Sox. And I cursed myself for so lustily cheering the Indians as they steamrolled the Yankees. Any team that beats the Yankees is deserving of the affection of all Americans. Any team that defeats the Red Sox (or Phillies) will be fed en masse into the wood-chipper when I am finally in charge of things.
I want to see steaming hate. Pure unfiltered fury at an undeserved defeat. No worry. No fear. No concern. Absolute confidence that destiny demands victory and that the Almighty Himself will strike down those evildoers who disturb the path of the righteous.
This is a bad year. A fortnight ago I was contemplating the inevitability of a too-long delayed Boston/Philadelphia World Series. Today I’m contemplating the third year in a row with no reason to watch the last week of the season. Another boring World Series. Another wasted opportunity. Another blown year.
@#$*! the Rockies.