PITCHED A NUTTY? In the end, I think I like Piniella. Crazy can be good for baseball if it’s the right kind of crazy, I say.
LOOK, UP IN THE SKY. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s a pig. Lots of pigs. Or maybe locusts. Unbelievable.
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PATS FAN. I wonder, did Sisyphus also have legions of fans back in Greece cheering him on with insanity-laced futile devotion? This is it, Sisyphus! This is the year! You’ve really got that rock beat this time!
SPRING HOPES ETERNAL. So after a long winter spent licking our wounds and shaking our heads, we begin again.
DESPAIR. Heartache. Misery.
NEXT, IT WILL BE LOCUSTS. The Red Sox have now humiliated the Yankees for two games in a row. They’ve gone from seven and a half games back to one and a half games back in the space of two weeks. Obviously, there’s something off in the world – in a good way.
Of course, this is probably just the tantalizing lead up to the crushing disappointment. Here are two quotes describing the self-flagellation that is the condition of being a Sox fan. In the Globe, David Halberstam recounts the experience of a fan who inherited his love for the Sox down through the generations:
First they killed my father. Now they’re coming after me.
And another, off the tee-vee:
Being a Sox fan is like watching the Wizard of Oz and Dorothy and Toto die at the end.
Anyway, here’s to October. Or did I speak too soon?