Post-post-season hangover

I was prepared for a loss, y'know. Not to say I ever doubted my team for a minute, not even when it came down to the last inning, but such things do flit through a man's mind. But not like this. It was going to be a noble loss, a final ebbing of powers after a hard-fought series. A run of high-scoring games full of moments of exhiliration and goggling disbelief that two teams could play ball on so high a level would culminate in a nail-biting Game Seven that would come down to the wire. If the BoSox were to finally break the curse, it was only fitting that it should happen back home in Fenway, not before a hostile crowd at the doors of Dixie.

A crushing four-game sweep, with the Cards offence practically shut down after the first game was the furthest thing from my mind. My only consolation is: It could've been the Yankees. Congratulations Boston. Try not to burn the goddamn city down tonight, 'kay?