These are the times that try men's souls. The summer bleacher bum and the sunshine Cleveland Indians fan will, in this crisis, shrink from the support of their team; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Possessing the worst-hitting squad in the modern history of this team, like Hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as "a winning record" should not be highly rated.
The Kansas City Royals, Chicago White Sox, Detroit Tigers, and Minnesota Twins amongst other major teams across the league that can actually hit baseballs out of the freaking infield to enforce their tyranny, have basically declared that they have a right (not only to WIN) but "to stick our mangy heads further down in a swirling vortex of utter and total suck" that is the AL-Central and if being drowned in that manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon Earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can belong only to the god damnable Boston Red Sox.
Whether the contendability of this team was declared too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own simple opinion is, that had we have been able to win one more ALCS contest game eight months ago, it would have been much better. 
We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, while we were in our perpetually cash-strapped state. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own; we have none to blame but ourselves (or perhaps the cold, merciless, spotty, cackling, ball busting, luggage-skinned hag that keeps this region's grandest optimistic hopes in an airless, cast-iron safe at the bottom of the Marianas Trench).
I thank providence, that I fear not. I see no real cause for fear. I know our situation well, and can see the way out of it (or if nothing else a lot more free time once this team completes its fall from contention, if that is to be the Way of Things).
Once more the Indians are hitting and scoring; our newfound momentum is materializing fast, and we shall be able to open the next month of the campaign with our dependable twenty-five men, well prepared and clothed.
This is our situation, and who will may know it. By perseverance and fortitude we have the prospect of a glorious summer; by cowardice and submission, the sad choice of a variety of evils — a triumphant Chicago — a depopulated Progressive Field — Tom Hamilton leaping in despair from the WTAM broadcast booth — summer without hope — our glorious ballpark turned into barracks and bawdy-houses for White Sox, and a 2009 pennant race to provide for, whose father we shall doubt of. Look on this picture and weep over it! and if there yet remains one thoughtless wretch who believes it not, let him suffer it unlamented.
May 31, 2008
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