Missive

Dear Boston Sox,

I am getting very tired of waking up to NPR and hearing Bob Oakes or Oats or whatever the hell his name is telling me in a semi-smug tone that you've lost. Today I heard "And the Red Sox get the broom in Kansas City, losing five straight."


Quit your bitching, Mr. Youkilis.

Let me say this. YOU ARE THE GOD-DAMN BOSTON RED SOX, 2004 WORLD CHAMPIONS, THE MIRACLE TEAM. There is NO EXCUSE for these shenanigans, this tomfoolery, these most unamusing hijinks. I am beginning to seriously be concerned for Red's liver. You made Kristen lose her grip on reality. She can't even muster up the sobriety/anger to chastise you anymore. Did you think you were off the hook? I DON'T EVEN HAVE CABLE AND YOU ARE DISAPPOINTING ME ON A DAILY BASIS, YOU NASTY MEN.

I don't want to hear you whining about injuries. I don't want to hear your stirring rendition of Whitman's "O Captain, My Captain." Jason Varitek is not dead. When he is recovered enough to hobble to Fenway he is going to kick the ever-loving snot out of all of you. He played with a sore ass for most of the season and you're actively fucking up the fruits of his labor. STOP IT. Same with Trot. You don't want Trotter mad at you. He'll make you give blood, and not in the needles then cookies and juice box way.

In short, sack up and start winning some damn baseball games.

Sincerely,
Amy