The Agony of Being a Yankee fan, vs the Joy of Rooting for the Redsocks

Today, let's face it:

Every Yankee fan in this godforsaken, hell-on-earth world is suffering from the acute pain of having to go through life knowing that Arizona two years ago would have happily taken Phil Hughes or Joba Chamberlain, instead of Ian Kennedy.

We are haunted by this dastardly trick of fate, this twisting away of the delicious beef jerky of life, which we could already taste our New York, big city-forked tongues... and yet, we somehow persevere. Because that is our mission.

Meanwhile, the Redsock Nation writhes in jubilation over the granting of its secret wish: Again, Bostonians can be the long-suffering victims, the tribe chosen by God, or Mitt Romney, to embody the human condition and endure the ultimate pain: Wild Card.
This enduring self-image was temporarily quashed, through the spending of billions and the acquiring of two World Championships in less time than it took Ian Kennedy to become an all-star. As a result, Redsock fans can no longer hug the sense of being God's Special Class, so everyone will feel sorry for them - like today's billionaires who pretend to be millionaires... always expecting - no, challenging - their heroes to fall short of the mark.

Now, they can sorry for themselves and blame the dirty Yankees for buying another sunset.
The big wheel has turned another revolution. Howl, howl, howwwwwwwwwwww...