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Bill:
So can we finally write the final sentence in this supposed Cindahrellah story of the Rays?
Doug:
You mean the version where Cindahrellz doesn't get the bling and has to return home as a floor scrubbing wench?
Bill:
Yeah, and where she tries to convince everyone that, you know, even if she didn't get to marry the Prince and live happily evah aftah in glimmahring castle and have a pumpkin coach victory parade that it was still *quite* an achievement to get to go to the ball at all and surely, surely,
she'll get to go again next year.
Doug:
The evil step-sistah in me says, guess again, bitch. Get your mangy ho-hawk back down to the cellah where you belong.
Doug:
I know. And weren't the Tigahs going to be the young, perennially contending leviathan for years to come aftah they, like the Rays, came out of nowhere to get to the World Series in '06?
Bill:
Yeah, wow's that working out for ya, Detroit?
Mike:
Not at all. I mean you can take the Rays out of last place, but you can't take the last place out of the Rays.
Al:
Well whatdya expect? They came into this season losahs and they are going out of this season as losahs.
Doug:
But, hey, you know, at least it isn't a total loss. All 6 or so chicks who got those Ho-Hawks don't have the trim the lawn for anothah 3 to 6 weeks.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
I haven't yet decided on a publishing plan for this coming off season, but I am going to take the rest of the week off.
Also the characters will be making a guest appearance on the Yankees' blog Bronx Banter probably next week as part of the "Yankee Stadium Memory" series. I'll link it up when it happens.
Bill:
Christ, I'm already feeling good again. Who knew that losing to the Rays would be so forgettable?
Doug:
Seriously. Turns out losing to the Rays is about as damaging to the psyche long term as losing a game of putt-putt golf to your sistah.
Doug:
Jeez, could you pick 3 more hated, greedy, unrepentant organizations in all of America? I mean what next, name OJ Simpson to run it?
Bill:
Really. When you combine the megalomania of Jerry Jones with the Steinbrennahs who knows where it'll end.
Doug:
Absolutely. One day it's hot dogs and mustard they're pedaling, and the next day they're selling stolen Chinese babies to rich couples looking to adopt.
Bill:
But, you know, seeing how both the Cowboys Suck and the Yankees Suck, it makes sense to diversify the business and all. Can't count on the teams bringing any bling.
Bill:
Seriously, and the friggin' balance is all whacked. I mean think about it — losing feels worse than winning feels good. Why the frig is that?
Mike:
Winning is ephemeral … always somehow outside of you … know what I mean?
Bill:
I do. Absolutely. It's like even after the World Series victories, as happy as I was, I didn't really own it, never felt quite like I had all that it could give, always that feeling that there is even more joy in victory out there if I can just work hahdah to find it.
Bill:
Losing on the other hand just crawls right up inside of you and makes itself at home. It has weight. It has presence.
Mike:
Winning is like taking your joy and writing it on water, while losing is like having your remorse tattooed all across your ass.
Hart Brachen:
Last night I realized the the word which perfectly describes the Red Sox in the ALCS is
brinkmanship,
Hart Brachen:
That is "the technique or practice of maneuvering a dangerous situation to the limits of tolerance or safety in order to secure the greatest advantage."
Hart Brachen:
Sounds about right, huh?
Doug:
That was "The Miracle of Late Hits and Wicked Pissahs" is what that
was.
Doug:
And
that
my friends and fellow citizens of Red Sox Nation is what we call Red Sox Baseball!
Doug:
Absolutely, literally, totally unbelievable.
Mike:
Seriously, guy — I couldn't be any more in the middle of it and yet I still find it difficult to get a friggin grip on it.
Mike:
We've gone from the infamous team that no mattah how close to winning it all, we nevah will. To the team that no mattah how close to absolute defeat, you can nevah count 'em out.
Al:
Josh Beckett for Game 6?
Doug:
Why the frig not? We've got to win the next two no mattah what.
Mike:
Besides I've got a feeling
we are going to finally see
the nasty, squint-eyed, battah leering, whoop-assing redneck side of Josh Beckett on Saddadee night.
Doug:
That's right Tampa Bamians — Time to ring your dinky bells and slick up your Ray-ho-hawked pubes because the Red Sox are in your dome
pressuring
your doodz.
Mike:
Is Tampa Bay good or are we just bad?
Bill:
Does it mattah when you're down to what could be the final game of the season?
Mike:
Bob Ryan calls the Rays
a "youthful dream team" who "could be an impediment to [our] AL East success for many more years."
Bill:
Maybe. Yeah. Whatev. I'm just too friggin black and blue to contemplate the future right now.
Bill:
When this is ovah, I need to go on a long vacation from sports.
Mike:
And the only thing you can do is pick yourself up off the floor and prepare yourself to take it to 'em next time 'round.
Bill:
Absolutely. And it's a frig of a lot easier to get up off the floor these days than it was in, say, 2003.
Mike:
Yeah, in the old days I'd be on the floor in a fetal position with snot running out of my nose while whimpering and asking "Why does God hate us?"
Mike:
Well, almost. I think we need to get into a 1-3 hole first.
Bill:
We choose to go to the moon and fall behind in the ALCS and these othah things not because they are easy, but because they are hahd.
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