Sorry Sox Nation (Not Sorry!)

My favorite baseball player when I was a kid was Carlton Fisk, and every day throughout the season I'd check the box score to see what he'd done the night before. My choosing Fisk while growing up in the backwoods of Virginia was borne of two things: 1) our grandmother in Lowell, who taught me and Brothatime!! everything we wever knew about baseball as kids, and 2) during the strike-shortened season of 1981 they replayed Game 6 of the 1975 World Series, which further hooked me to Fisk.

Of course when I speak of Fisk I think of him as a Red Sox, but in looking back now most of my fanship of him was after he'd already been traded to the White Sox, and today I see an article about when he and Fred Lynn were traded, which seems to have come about after a comedy of errors:

But how had it come to this? How had a player who had so perfectly symbolized the region — and who said that only a few months earlier he “never could have visualized” any scenario where he wasn’t on the Red Sox — suddenly been allowed to become a free agent and leave?

The literal answer, unbelievable as it remains, was that a piece of mail had arrived two days late.

I'll leave the rest to Red Sox fans to read the entire thing and cry about it into their clam chowder....suck it, losers!!!

"Exit...stage right! All the way to Chicago, even!"

If you didn't just say that in a Snagglepuss voice that you can just go ahead and fuck yourself, thank you very much.