If you have come to see a baseball game, look away. These Red Sox do not trade in baseball. They ply only despair. They would take from you a night that could be free, one that could be pleasant and bereft of their plague and replace it with vile things like frustration and anger and sadness.
And then tomorrow it will start all over again.
Flee, child. Flee now while there is still time. Flee now before--
Oh, I see you're already stuck. Stuck here with me and all the rest of our unfortunate lot. We few, we foolish, we fanatics.
How we suffer.