Division Champs!

I have spent most of the month contemplating a third straight September Gag Job by my beloved, but all-too-frequently gutless, Oakland Athletics. I suppose my lack of excitement at their lead and my dearth of assurance they would close the deal, were defensive measure designed to protect my fragile psyche. Since 2000, I've had to deal with two feeble-minded managers, regular season MVPs who disappear and even forget how to run the bases in the playoffs, mental and physical errors of such rarity as to be almost fictional and, of course, the Fucking Jeter Flip Throw. But at least they made The Dance those years. The last two seasons, in which the less-talented Angels, eliminated us on our own field, coming from behind both times in the final weeks, those stuck in my craw like a soup bone. And I wasn't gonna let the green and gold get me wound up until they clinched.

I'm wound up. And in two weeks, I'll probably be crying in the fetal positon after they blow another 2-0 lead in the ALDS. But I've got this. We're partying tonight. Me and Medium Hurt.