Games 84 & 85 - Red Sox
Red Sox 5, A's 4
Royals 8, Red Sox 6
I really want to amp up the righteous indignation, but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to generate any emotion that's not theatrically enhanced. (Cue Jon Lovitz: "I'm ACTING!") The Sox are 3-4 at home against Seattle, Oakland, and Kansas City. The Yankees have crawled back into a flat-footed tie with the Sox atop the division (and the league). The bullpen blew another one last night. The offense is hitting below .250 over the last month. Aaron Bates and Mark Kotsay are starting at first.
And I'm sitting here struggling to tip the outrage scale at anything above mild annoyance.
I feel bad about it, really. The Mets, bless their feeble hearts, are an abject train wreck. I can see how Whitney might be getting worn down by having to watch that mess every night. I don't have any excuses.
All I have, really, is a growing, nagging realization: My name is Rob, and I'm spoiled by the Sox' success.
The malady doesn't affect me during games; in the moment, I'm every bit the irrational adolescent I've always been. But I don't carry the losses with me into the next day, and the next, like I used to. You can see it in the mailed-in offerings here at MLC of late. Go back to 2003 and 2004 and compare. There were times when the agony was laughably palpable. Hell, Aaron Boone ruined about a month for me.
As with most things, the Yankees are at the root of this new evil. Several times in the past week alone, Yankee-fan friends were meek, deferential even, during Sox/Yanks banter. In the past, I could always count on a "26" or a "Bucky Dent". Now, though, there's a wistful quality to my pinstriped pals' trash talking. Almost makes me feel sorry for them, mourning the loss of their swagger.
Almost. Suck it up, you ninnies. I need you to be assholes again. My angst is depending on it.