My Five Stages

Yes, I did rip the title of this post from an episode of Scrubs. I've never really bought into the Dr. Phil psychobabble that the Kübler-Ross model of grief seems to reflect, but at this point I'm open to pretty much anything that will make me forget the humiliation of being swept by an Anaheim team that we've dominated in the postseason for as long as I can remember. Even Dr. Phil-type crap.

Stage 1: Denial: When the Angels pulled ahead in the ninth inning, I was still optimistic. Hell, our third batter in the inning was going to be reigning MVP Dustin Pedroia...we were going to be fine.

Stage 2: Anger: I did a job on my room when the game ended. I kicked over RoommateCoop's ironing board. I let out a string of profanity that Bobby Knight would be proud of. And, of course, I continued to channel Coach Knight by throwing my chair across the room. I scare myself sometimes.

Stage 3: Bargaining: Dusty knocks a fly ball over the infield, and I respond with: "Drop, drop, drop, dear God please fucking drop..." I'm an atheist. For me to invoke God takes a lot.

Stage 4: Depression: Dusty's ball is caught, and I collapse. I sob. I pound the floor. I was a wreck. It took a long walk and Dairy Queen therapy with my girlfriend for me to crack the smallest of smiles. That DQ Pumpkin Pie Blizzard is divine.

Stage 5: Acceptance: I'm still working on this one, not gonna lie, but I think I'm doing a little better. The Sox were out-pitched, out-hit and out-hearted by Anaheim; I can't deny it, and there's not much point in trying. The season is over, but a new one begins in March. In the meantime, there will be plenty of news for me to follow. Free agents will come and go, the Varitek era will officially come to a close, and hopefully Theo will make some moves to put us in a better position next year (first suggestion: get rid of Manny Fucking Delcarmen, already). We once waited 86 years for a World Series victory; next season will mark the third year of our current dry spell, and I'm okay with that in the big picture. We still got this, baby...I've accepted it.

"Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Red Sox, you are the only, only, only"
- Dropkick Murphys