Just Joshin: A Manifesto

Oh and four. 0-4. Oh my.
The first time since 1996, the guys kept saying in the ninth. I would rather not hear that said the dear fan sitting next to me as David-ready-for-action Ortiz power stroked a low fastball to the opposite field, but the bad luck sort that find a fielder comfortably waiting.
Let’s turn this around.
Let’s go 0-5.
Let’s keep swinging at bad pitches.
Let’s go 0-6.
Let’s watch as our rivals coin a new phrase, “April Massacre.”
Let’s keep losing for a few weeks, break a few losing records.
Let’s keep losing until someone mentions the ’61Mets in the same sentence as the ’11 Red Sox.
Let’s listen to all the callers on the radio spit fire at Theo and Terri and our 180 Million Dollar team.
Let’s keep losing until a few fans finally wear paper bags over their heads.
Let’s keep losing until MLB produces a commercial like the Josh Hamilton one where the fan dons a batting practice jersey and whiffs pathetically, except in this one Carl Crawford can’t hit and the overweight fan smacks one into the Ted Williams seat at Fenway.
Let’s lose for most of April, so everyone can start quoting T.S.Eliot’s The Wasteland over and over..
Let’s lose and lose, until The Sporting News and Sports Illustrated reprint their preview issues and change their World Series predictions.
Let’s keep losing until all the pressure of those preseason stories fade so far into the past that the Sox can relax and have fun playing the game.
Let’s surprise everyone, until they say, “Who are those guys?”
Or until they say, “Josh, who?” and they don’t mean Josh Tomlin of the Indians.
Let’s keep losing until there is no other choice but to win.
I’m just joshin. Or maybe I’m not.

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