As one critic puts it, "'The Black Cat' is one of the most powerful of Poe's stories, and the horror stops short of the wavering line of disgust." And, at times, that's an apt description for what it feels like to watch the Boston Red Sox. --Edw.
Here's my theory: your Boston Red Sox--the same Boston Red Sox who just a week ago were tearing up the American League and nipping at the heels of the Yankees, doing uncharacteristic things like playing solid defense and pitching well--have been replaced by robot prototypes developed in the nefarious labs of George Steinbrenner, robot prototypes that play baseball just well enough to fool you, but which are programmed to self-destruct at inopportune times.
I mentioned this to someone last night on the SG message board, and the reply was, "Yeah, well, someone's been doing that for 86 years. They should really have caught on by now."
So, is it the same old story, same old song and dance, my friends? Will it be another year of enduring disappointment and frustration, not to mention the salt-in-the-wound of pretentious Yankees apologists telling us we don't really want to win anyway? Will it be another boring year of losing, and another year of enduring the taunts of bandwagon-jumping frontrunners for whom this kind of thing never gets old? Another dull as hell year of collapses and boos filling Fenway Park and despair and panicked calls to talk radio?
This is certainly a strange time for me. I'm remarkably calm--perhaps too calm--most of the time. Then, suddenly, I'll be so angry it feels like I'm going to swallow my own tongue.
This can't be good for my cardiac health.
But really--let Yankee assholes be assholes, let them conduct their amateur Freudian analysis on us, let them think they're better people because they happen to root for a winning team, let even some Boston journalists think they've come up with a real eureka! when they write some drivel about the team being cursed or the fans somehow wanting them to choke and cosmically bringing it about. I know what I feel. And what I feel is true anger. I do not enjoy this in any way, nor have I, to my knowledge, cast any mystical spells from my subconscious fan-mind to cause the Red Sox to suddenly play as if they've all been given shots of Botox to the groin.
Last night the Yankees, having thoroughly humiliated us, suddenly forgot how to play again against the bottom-feeding Toronto. You'll notice no one is theorizing that Yankees fans have somehow subconsciously begun to feel guilty and / or bored with winning and have decided to let them collapse.
Where did this come from, anyway, this notion that what a team does says something about its fans and that what fans do affects a team?
Believe me, last night as the Red Sox enacted an abomination of a run-down attempt in which, I believe, the official scoring was 5-4-1-5-2-3-7-8-9-10-2-5-4-2-1, nothing but Net (and a run scores!), if I had any psychic power over the team whatsoever I would have certainly fixed that. Or I would have gathered lightning in the sky above Fenway Park and smote Kevin Millar unto dust, but either way, losing is not something I would have advocated for or facilitated with my spooky mind powers.
It's not like those assholes need the help anyway.
*How Joe Castiglione described the botched rundown last night against the Orioles.