You always think you've seen the low point. "This must be the toughest loss of the year," you think to yourself as you order another whisky. And then, for the express purpose of taunting you, the Boston Red Sox go out and do that. First, they blow a hard-earned lead given to them by the only remotely reliable starter on the team. (And if any of you thought, going into the year, that the reliability title would belong to Clay Buchholz, shoot me an email, because we need to consult on stock market predictions.) Then, they take the lead on a crowd-electrifying home run from Pirates castoff Pedro Ciriaco, and extend that lead on subsequent hits. Then, Alfredo Aceves, not content having blown one lead, puts a pair on base and hangs a pitch to Joe Mauer. Mauer, polite Midwestern boy that he is, obediently planted that pitch among the Monster seats, and that was that.
I have nothing to say about the Red Sox at this point in time. Nothing. They're a better team than this. They must be. In terms of pure talent, they should be among the league's elite. And yet they're one game away from being swept by the Twins, and I have no confidence that they won't be. So I'm going to go pour myself a pint of Lagavulin, and leave this as just a purely open thread. Talk about your disappointments. Talk about your hopes for Matt Barnes and Jackie Bradley. Talk about the Olympics. Talk about your hopes for the next season of Parks and Recreation. At this point, it hardly seems to matter. Chat away, folks.