Baseball is becoming a bummer

The Boston Red Sox have managed once again to put us all in The Nation on notice. Defeat is imminent. The Sky is Falling. Our desires and hopes wound us up tighter and tighter as we came nearer the ALCS. The string that bound us to the possibility of victory over the hated Yankees was stretched to its extent and then Pop! goes the tendon. The Hair. The Animal House references. It was all just too COMFORTING, wasn't it? It lulled us into delusion. Dennis Leary was right when he said that every year we are destined to get close, and yet never prevail. Enjoy the ride and expect the pain, he said. The only solace that can come our way is that the Yankees are ultimately beaten witless and left stammering in a side alley of St. Louis. Or Houston. The venue of the Series is no way near as important as the humiliation of the Bombers.
The dread happenstance, accident of Nature, curse direct from the sweaty frontal cortex of Beelzebub himself has taken so many forms over the years, though many times the shit goes down within the confines of the infield. At least Schillings name does not begin with a "B" or rhyme with something easy to chant. Oh wait...then can certainly do clever things with "killing", can't they? Swilling? Or maybe not. Let's see what shakes loose tonight for Game Three.

There is something unsettling about the fact that Kerry is also from Boston. He is tainted. Can he win with the stench of a curse hanging around on his wool blazer like cigarette smoke? The tea leaves are suggesting doom. Four More Years. Egad.

Maybe I've given up too soon. Well at any rate, at least there's always Next Year for Boston Fans.