Results tagged ‘ ALCS ’
“All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning.“
— Albert Camus (1913 – 1960)
For the Rays, that ridiculous beginning — which included the most atrocious team color scheme in the history of man, a perennial place at the bottom of the AL East and an escalating alienation from their fans (all four of them) — could be just the set-up they need to accomplish their very first great deed.
But if they lose Game 6 tonight, consider the Rays in deep trouble.
For if I were a Tampa Bay Ray, the last thing I would want to do is play a determined, feisty, no-holds-barred ball club from Boston with the entire season on the line. Recent history has shown us that the Red Sox live for this sort of thing and that when the going gets tough — down by 7 runs, down by 3 games in the series, down by an intangible curse — they indeed get tougher.
In other words, the Rays better close this thing out tonight or they will face a long winter of second guesses, disappointment and reflecting on their emulation of the baseball equivalent of erectile dysfunction.
Similarly, in anticipation of the heralded third party presidential debate set to take place tomorrow (Sunday) evening in New York, I might suggest that Ralph Nader better get his non-pandering ^ss there or he too can kiss his chances of becoming the next president goodbye.
Because let’s face it, US America needs Ralph Nader — if for nothing else than to remember that if you work hard, make angry faces and go on tirades against the political elite long enough, then eventually, there will be a less than 1% chance that anyone will actually listen to what you’re saying.
And sometimes, less than 1% is better than 0%.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
From the 86 years of pure agony credited to the infamous Curse of the Bambino which included tumultuous yet exciting events such as the 1946 World Series, Carlton Fisk’s ’75 bomb, Bill Buckner’s mental lapse and the late-inning heroics of one Aaron “The One-Hit Wonder” Boone, to the most historically shocking comeback in the history of the world in 2004 to overcoming a 3 games to 1 deficit in in the ALCS last year only to sweep the hottest team in baseball on your way to winning it all — again… I have no idea how you do it, Boston — how your heart hasn’t leaped out of your chest and sunk through the floor, how you haven’t become a raging alcoholic nor eaten your children, how you haven’t been diagnosed with a severe case of jitteritis or how you have yet to set fire to the city of New York.
If I were you and I followed a team that knew no other style of play than the “force our fans to writhe and convulse in torment, exasperation and paralytic panic as we may or may not ultimately win this contest but we promise it will be interesting” I would, indeed, be a dead man.
Because, my fellow US Americans, I cannot take such stress. This is why every time Jason Isringhausen came in from the bullpen this season I immediately changed the channel. The pure uncertainty of his aging ability and his austere acuteness for blowing saves was simply too much for me. Often times I thought I would’ve been better off performing the Japanese ritual suicide rite of seppuku than watching him pitch late in a ball game, other times I just rammed my head into a concrete wall until I had the good fortune of sleep.
Dear readers, during the most stressful of times (i.e. close baseball games, first dates, election night) when my palms are sweaty, my brow furled, my pulse raging beyond control, I find myself resorting to the old habits of yesteryear already responsible for killing half of my family: nicotine, alcohol, the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric.
And that scares me.
Luckily for me, I was born in the midwest — far, far away from rickety noreaster accents and wild-hang-by-the-seat-of-your-pants baseball known as the Red Sox Nation.
Win or lose, no one knows drama like a Red Sox fan. And that’s something I do not covet — not one bit.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As we watch our hard earned US American dollars turn to cents and our favorite college football teams humiliate themselves to no end, I am happy to say that at least I have the dulcet sounds of Carrie Underwood playing in the background and one of my best friends visiting me for the weekend. Yes, dear readers: Mr. Krause is in the building.
In light of this perfect storm, we humbly beg your forgiveness while we detour from our usual minutiae ridden rants and tirades.
Instead we want to remind you of what really matters:
Don’t hate us ‘cuz we’re right.
Jeffy and A