There are no words
So.
The Red Sox.
My team. My boys. My fucking heart.
There are no words in the English dictionary or .GIFs on Tumblr that can accurately convey the complete and profound depths I have reached with my rage, my horror, and my grief.
I didn't watch the Sox collapse last September - I was too busy with school and LSAT prep to pay attention to baseball. But it was awful to read about, to see my favorites in all of baseball become an utter laughing stock. And over the winter it was hard to watch Terry Francona leave, and then see Tim Wakefield and Jason Varitek (the elder statesman and captain, respectively, and undoubtedly two great steadying influences in the clubhouse) retire. I put my faith in the team, though, that there was always next year, and that spring training would be a fresh start. I ignored the impassioned, bitter insults my dad, a Sox fan for all sixty-one years of his life, slung at the team, because someone in the family had to be the optimist.
(Optimism is most assuredly not normally My Thing, but I had to try.)
The Sox got off to a rocky start. They kicked the Rays' collective butts on Opening Day weekend, but so far it's been the only highlight to the season.
And then this past weekend. I mean... Jesus Christ.
The Sox lost 6-2 to the fucking New York Yankees on Fenway Park's one hundredth birthday. And then fucking YESTERDAY. Ahead 9-1 going into the seventh inning, and the bullpen - ONCE AGAIN - fucking collapses and the Yankees rally to win FIFTEEN TO FUCKING NINE.
FIFTEEN TO NINE.
The season is three weeks old and the Sox have already hit ROCK FUCKING BOTTOM. I have been a loyal fan my whole life, but I am so tempted to throw up my hands and find myself another team, if only for the sake of my blood pressure.
Seriously. There are quite literally no words that can accurately express what I'm feeling right now.
Screaming, at least, gets close.
The Red Sox.
My team. My boys. My fucking heart.
There are no words in the English dictionary or .GIFs on Tumblr that can accurately convey the complete and profound depths I have reached with my rage, my horror, and my grief.
I didn't watch the Sox collapse last September - I was too busy with school and LSAT prep to pay attention to baseball. But it was awful to read about, to see my favorites in all of baseball become an utter laughing stock. And over the winter it was hard to watch Terry Francona leave, and then see Tim Wakefield and Jason Varitek (the elder statesman and captain, respectively, and undoubtedly two great steadying influences in the clubhouse) retire. I put my faith in the team, though, that there was always next year, and that spring training would be a fresh start. I ignored the impassioned, bitter insults my dad, a Sox fan for all sixty-one years of his life, slung at the team, because someone in the family had to be the optimist.
(Optimism is most assuredly not normally My Thing, but I had to try.)
The Sox got off to a rocky start. They kicked the Rays' collective butts on Opening Day weekend, but so far it's been the only highlight to the season.
And then this past weekend. I mean... Jesus Christ.
The Sox lost 6-2 to the fucking New York Yankees on Fenway Park's one hundredth birthday. And then fucking YESTERDAY. Ahead 9-1 going into the seventh inning, and the bullpen - ONCE AGAIN - fucking collapses and the Yankees rally to win FIFTEEN TO FUCKING NINE.
FIFTEEN TO NINE.
The season is three weeks old and the Sox have already hit ROCK FUCKING BOTTOM. I have been a loyal fan my whole life, but I am so tempted to throw up my hands and find myself another team, if only for the sake of my blood pressure.
Seriously. There are quite literally no words that can accurately express what I'm feeling right now.
Screaming, at least, gets close.