So let me get this straight: the Red Sox are only six and a half games out of first in the middle of June and some motherf%^kers out there are writin’ em off?
That’s fine. But consider this: If the Allied forces gave up three months into World War Two, we’d all be speaking German and “Der Komissar” would be our National Anthem. There’s a reason they say “it’s a marathon, not a sprint.” That’s because it’s a motherf$%king marathon, not a sprint. And even though I usually punch someone square in the biscuits the minute they toss such a well-worn cliche my way, I gotta respect the sentiment. There’s still a long way to go, and I ain’t ready to bury The Bobby Valentine Players just yet.
For all those of you convinced this team can still go places, I got a seat for you on the Ellis Express. For everyone else, I’ve got a little something called “The Full Wes Chamberlain.”
I may just be a handsome and meticulously groomed piece of cardboard, but I know what’s right. Stick with your boys, people. I’ve got a feeling they’re not gonna disappoint.
