Unfortunately, it was the last dance tonight. Thanks for a great season, boys, and we'll just forget about how you rolled over for the White Sox, okay? I knew it was over when we couldn't score with the bases loaded and no outs. I cried then, not when the actual last out was recorded, because that was when I knew, without a doubt, that this team was not last year's team, or even the 2003 team. This team was tired and wanted to go home, and so they did. I didn't expect to win it all this year -- I'm a fan, not an idiot -- but, as always, I wanted just one more game. I realized the other day that I'm strung out on baseball from March to October, always looking for one more hit, one more fix. Knowing that it's bad for me and my heart, I press on, another game, another battle, more hope, more, more, more. Now it's over, and I've got all winter to dissect the season, but I don't want to. I just want to look forward to spring training, and more of that fabulous fucking gun, Papelbon, and Papi, and Manny, and whoever else they get to become my boys.
In honor of the better team, today's blog is Relatively Normal, by Sarah, resident White Sox fanatic. Good luck and godspeed, Other Sox.
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