The Tears of Angels

...I'm nevah gonna stop the rain by complainin'... - Sarah Glenn

As I write this, Texas size raindrops fall upon the last of the 2013 Angels season. Large drops of agony falling from high above, thudding to a halt on the earth in Texas, beaten by gravity and time, these drops fall hard and without any sign of mercy.

Some might say these are the tear's of Mike Scioscia, who may very well be filling out his last lineup card as the Angels manager tomorrow. The team that again was his to bring into spring, as a competitive unit, was again sacrificed on the altar of futility. The team that took a stacked deck of MVP's and folded under the will of the Astros like a child arm wrestling his mother. This was the team with the best player in baseball, getting swept under the rug of history, this was Scioscia's turn.

Some may say these unusually large rain drops are falling from the eye's of Jerry Dipoto, who kicks himself every single day for signing Blanton, who will watch tomorrow's game from an awkward angle, the lens of uncertainty. Jerry Dipoto, who rides in Arte Moreno's offseason sidecar, cleaning up the mess that Arte makes, gambling that hotdogs will taste like Filet Mignon, when the mustard of homeruns fails to materialize. Jerry Dipoto, who gave his hair a bigger raise than Mike Trout, whose mascara will run tomorrow if he get's that phone call, that Jerry.

Or are these the tears of Josh Hamilton, tears of shame, tears of joy now that the season is over and he will get a respite from the attention of the world. Tears of agony as he recognizes that something critical is missing and he can't live down being the next Vernon Wells. Tears of pain in the gym in the offseason, trying to lift his way out of the doghouse. His trade value is zero, his contract is over 100+ million, and he might just put together a great year when we least expect it. The whole team cried when they signed him, but tomorrow he could make Texas cry as well, you never know with this guy....

The tears are pooling on the infield in Texas. They are drizzling down the window of Mike Trout's hotel room, as he looks out towards an uncertain future. The rain drops are falling hard, and again Trumbo can't sleep, twitching as he vividly relives almost 200 strikeouts, that first turn and step towards a smaller paycheck moving forward... Trumbo tries to remember if he got the check from that last Pechanga autograph gig on his only off day in August , or was it September.

Butcher takes a walk, not to the mound, but to the liquor store perhaps, or to the place in this mind where he justifies his decisions this season. He walks in the rain, feeling it hit his head, baptizing his shame, and the shame of the Angels on that last dark night in Texas...

One more game, for what it is worth...

For the people who watch this team, who love this team, who care about every last drop of this season, it means a great deal...

Let's give Texas something to cry about. Go Angels! We can take this last game! Thank you Trout, Thank you!

This Fan-Post is authored by an independent fan. Tell us what you think and how you feel.

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