The Panic Button

(The following is Rated-R: Adult language, adult content, Red Sox fan pissed off)

Strangely, I feel most comfortable, a sense of nostalgia even, when The Red Sox are losing. Without missing a step, I go back to my pre-2004 self, throw up my hands and say, "Goddamn bums, it's over. The season is the over. The past five years have been an aberration, and buckle up because it's going to be another 86 years before these fucking idiots win again."

After the Sox abysmal 1-5 road trip, I've gone past hitting the panic button and have officially given up. Why? The answer to this question gets to the root of my indignation with these fair-weather Pink Hat bozos who claim that they shit in the shape of Yaz but couldn't tell you The Sox starting right-fielder.

I have given up because I'm a fucking Red Sox fan!

For those of us who are over five-years-old and have been following the Red Sox our entire lives, you are not going to undo a lifetime of misery and disappointment with two World Series championships. Being a Red Sox fan is more than following a baseball team; it's a way a being, a psychological condition. And when things are going bad, a little switch goes off in your head that tells you that the sky is falling and nothing will be salvaged. Therefore, you give up. I've given up on these assholes who, standing in a verdant meadow, couldn't hit the grass with a stream of their own piss lately. Fuck them. Fuck the Red Sox. When does football season start? I don't care anymore if my wife watches Project Runway when the game is on. It doesn't matter because it's over. Do you understand me? It's fucking over!

And if the Sox happen to start playing well again, I'll be right there with them, denying I ever wrote this, in spite of the irrefutable evidence that's right here for everyone to see. This is what it means to be a Red Sox fan.

And as for you Pink Hat dildos and your stupid optimism: you don't know dick. Put on your your $200 Big Papi jersey and go fuck yourself.

And one more thing. Go Sox!