You know, much has been bandied about in the last day or so about rebuilding plans and the long-term future of the Sox and what this all means, but at this point, with a F-U-C-K-I-N-G R-A-I-N D-E-L-A-Y meaning that a cruising Curt Schilling has to sit down, I'm beginning to believe the explanation is simply that God fucking hates us again, although of course, as in the 86 years preceding 2004, it's unclear exactly what we did to piss Him off.
It took quite a bit of resolve for me to even turn on this game tonight, especially since Joe Morgan is going to be broadcasting. The amount of Yankees ballwashing has been unbelievable, right down to a snickering report on what Johnny Damon said about Red Sox fans continuing to boo him (although I thought John Miller had a good line: "That'll really mean he's cheered from now on at Fenway.") And God preserve us from Joe Morgan's insistence that Schilling is tipping his splitter, despite Miller's continued and ever-more-emphatic assurances that A-Rod had the take sign on...
But all of that pales in comparison to the simple fact that the moment we get decent pitching on our side (and Schilling has been throwing some beauts) it starts. to mother. fucking. rain.
It's not even funny anymore. Not to me, anyway. Although I'm sure they're cackling in New York.
Edited to add: Game back on, but Schilling just gave up a monstrous three-run homer to an admitted steroid user. Sorry I'm a bad fan, but I'm going to bed.
Further update: Climbed out of bed this morning. First thing I did was go to the computer, sit down, and type in www.redsox.com as that would bring me quickest to last night's score and also probably have a nicely-written headline like, oh, say "Long Night Ends on Another Down Note" to soften the blow. After that, I read some blogs just to capture the flavor of what I missed.
Conclusion: still glad I didn't watch the end.