Yankeetorial: As fellow fans, we take no joy from the Redsocks misery

Base path obstructionism? Dear Lord, what a horrible, terrible way to lose. It's a disgrace, that's what it is. A sham. A shame. A blight. A pock. A shameful sham of a blighted pock.

Nobody should suffer as the Redsocks did last night. If Hitler managed a netherworld ball club with Nero, Saddam, Idi Amin and Joan Crawford, the team would not deserve to lose on such a shabby call. Shabby, I say. Shabby!

I, for one, hope that every Boston fan stands up to condemn the world for what it is: A shameful sham of a blighted pock!

Dear Lord, will there ever be justice? Perhaps the Afflecks and Damons of Hub Town will be receive a karmic victory, maybe from the Celtics or Bruins, to offset the sting of a game stolen by the umps like a leaf torn on the wind from the earnest tines of their autumn rakes. O, the humanity. Words, you fail my larynx. Higgs, your bosons do no good. 

It's been an hour since I wrote those last words. I have sat here, frozen in grief. The minutes mocked me, as I the pain of every Bostonian coursed through my heart and buttocks. What a horrible, terrible loss. We are all Massachusettians today. From the deepest, most bottomless of the well of my heart, may you wonderful makers of thick chowders and delicious cream pies rise up, heal, and put this dreadful smudge behind you. A shameful sham of a blighted pock. So sad. So very sad. Pass the meat loaf, please.