Sigh...

And so I sink into another furry of darkness - a deep, cold feeling of despair and anguish - for my gods have abandoned me in my time of need. I curse the bases that were impediments to home plate. I curse the Donkey for his Ks. I curse Michalak who should never don a Major League uniform. But most of all I curse Jerry Morron, a man who has no business putting a pencil to a lineup.

The cruel powers that be have tortured us again, giving us hope where no hope should have existed, pulling us from the mire only to fling us back into the wretched pits, abandoned, lost, without faith. Oh, what dreams had come to all of us, what mirages of October, when the crisp, cool air rustles the trees of destiny and leaves us glorious memories for all of our mortal existence. Alas, those dreams have been stolen from us not by our opponents but by our own heartless team, a team that threw away opportunities time and time again, showering us with frustration and agony. Those dreams were our joy, but they are beaten, mangled, ripped to pieces...

And now - dead.