MEA CULPA

I've learned a valuable lesson in the last couple days my friends, and that lesson is: restraint. Thursday morning when I came before you and presented words of an angry nature about the Red Sox and their historic collapse, I had no idea of the effect those words would have on my beloved team. Friday afternoon as the news came that Red Sox manager Terry Francona had stepped down and was leaving the organization, the only words that came to my mind were: "Dear God, what have I done?"

I mean, it's obvious that Francona's decision was due in no small part to the venom that I had spit right here on this very forum about his team's epic fail. The man must have spent a sleepless Wednesday night reliving the horrors of September in his tortured mind as well as facing doubts about his future with the team. Maybe somewhere in the midst of all that he did some drinking, probably did some whoring, perhaps even drove out to the Bronx and found a homeless guy wearing a tattered old Yankees cap and beat him near to death with a log of smoked Gouda. Why would he do such a thing? Why use Gouda and not Provolone? Why would he even have such an item in his trunk in the first place? Why did he add insult to injury by urinating on the man's shopping cart full of shattered dreams? These are questions only Terry Francona and his demons can answer! But right now they're all on a fast train out of Beantown, most likely headed for the Windy City. And it's all my fault because after Francona woke up Thursday afternoon covered in filth, whore-stink and finely aged cheese, he must have read my blog and realized that it was time for him to go.

Of course I'm only speculating about all of this. Might not have actually happened that way since Francona wasn't even anywhere near the Bronx at the time. Seems in reality that he and the Sox were in Baltimore on Wednesday night putting the shameful capper on their season of futility. But that's neither here nor there, what matters is that my words obviously had an impact on the man's decision to part ways with the Sox and I have to live with that. And from all of this I have learned the aforementioned lesson of restraint. From now on, I will choose my words carefully, I'll think about what I'm going to say and I'll take a moment of pause before posting, I promise. After this one last time of course, because if I followed those rules today I definitely wouldn't be putting this shit up.

But in the here and now, all I can do is apologize to Red Sox Nation for my part in our uncertain future. Terry Francona was a great manager. He ended Boston's 86-year championship drought with not one but two World Series titles and for that we will always be grateful. If he does end up managing the Chicago White Sox as some have speculated then I wish him all the best. Well… not ALL the best. Don't want him to get hit by a bus or nothing but I don't want him winning anymore championships with some other team either. I'm petty like that. Especially not with the White Sox. We're the team people think of when you say the word Sox, no one thinks of them. Who cares if they actually came first, we wear it better, so eff them twice.

In closing, just let me say that the drifter Mr. Francona may or may not have beaten with a log of hardened dairy product is at this time resting comfortably at Calvary Hospital in the Bronx. And I might also add that on the night in question I was home… asleep… nowhere near New York when that man got beat. Honest.