Sunday, June 22, 2003
"I saw Sarah Good with the Devil! I saw Goody Osburn with the Devil! I Saw saw Bridget Bishop with the Devil!"
How do I put the total sense of misery I've been feeling since yesterday afternoon's 13th inning loss into words?
It could be argued that the loss was the worst of the year, one deserving of a notation in the margin of the schedule to make it easier to locate a potential turning point in what is developing into a could've-been/should've-been season (Horrigan, Herald).
Even the normally even tempered Gordon Edes from the Globe seems ominous penning a column entitled "This One Produces Witch Hunt" and suggesting "they have yet to invent a sedative strong enough for anyone to endure it without feeling a touch of madness."
But before hunting for a Tituba to press to death with a hundred heavy stones, let's take a breath and consider this quote in the Edes column from the Phillies late inning hero Todd Pratt:
"That's the way baseball is. I'm not cracking on the media, but sometimes you get caught up in a single game, instead of the whole season."
Gather ye stones for erstwhile witch hunting if you must. Or face the day resolutely and with the sense of what Giamatti calls
this pleasure, including the emotion of losing — which brings pleasure only in the limited but real sense that bond to others are forged again and bitterness cannot break (Take Time for Paradise).
