THERE *IS* CRYING IN BASEBALL
Every so often, I forget why I do not under any circumstances watch Red Sox games. I don't know why I have to continually relearn this, but classical conditioning has perplexingly failed to kick in. But I do have to stop sometime--the strain on my heart is hazardous to my health. --me, way back on July 28.
Unbelievable. Unbearable. Unspeakable.
Perhaps the worst part is that I thought I had found my Zen yesterday. I went into watching the game calm, composed and ready. Even if they lost, I thought, I could take it. After all, it's only a game, as my parents kept reminding me. It's only entertainment.
Well, Casablanca is only entertainment, but last time I checked, it's made plenty of people cry. Same with the Sox.
Needless to say, I was very, very, VERY wrong about that whole Zen thing. Among the many things I forgot about in the midst of Red Sox Fever is that the Red Sox are about as believable as an abusive husband when they say "It'll be different from now on." And what I forgot about in my zealotry over this postseason is that no matter how stoic and cynical a long-suffering fan you think you are, they will always--always--find a way to get to you. The one thing the Red Sox are good at (besides losing) is absolutely breaking your heart in the worst way, and at the worst time.
Five outs. I can barely even think about it. Five outs away, and then it all just...