We play you five more times this season. Five games...
Take them! They're all yours!
That's right. Go, just GO. Shoo! Begone. We don't want them. There are some good movies on TV this afternoon - "Hang 'em High" and "Fried Green Tomatoes." Get your lead, widen it, give us a chance to enjoy the "Monk" festival on Ion.
Listen: You earned the wins. Last year, as your team swirled down the toilet, you chose to rebuild the Redsocks, rather than double-down on slobbering former stars. We, of course, never do such a thing as rebuild. Thus, we win when spending three times as much as most teams, with a farm system that cannot produce one position player, not one. Ah, but that's a matter to explore this winter - which, hmm, will start in three weeks!
But I digress. BEAT US! PLEASE, EARLY, FAST! COMPLETELY! Let the stadium fill with booing. Let the Yankee owners know how much we appreciate the system they have created.
These last two losses were cruel and unusual punishment. You didn't need to let us take the lead Friday night. If you'd beaten us 7-2 - or maybe 12-2 - we could have watched Peyton Manning. Last night, why did you let us lead 8-3? That was torture. Good grief, we've pitched Joba Chamberlain, twice. Has any host ever been more welcoming?
Today, we're suiting up a guy from Scranton. If we're lucky, he'll pitch five innings and give up - oh - three runs. After that, we'll trowel up grocery-baggers and gym teachers, maybe even Joba again!
Don't be cruel. Just take your four-game sweep and go. Put the first bullet in our brain, then add two more, just to be safe. End it by the third. There are shows to watch. Sweep us, end this nightmare season, let us enjoy the beauty of the trees turning color.
Hey, how about this for the future: IT IS HIGH, IT IS FAR, IT IS... MONK.
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