The Angels lose and I don’t want to talk about it

Rays 11 Angels 4

When I was a wee lad, about 3rd grade or so, I went to an amusement park with my family. An exciting morning of amusement later, I saw a booth on the boardwalk that I knew I wanted to play a game at. A begrudging five dollars from my parents later, I played what I recall to be a rendition of ‘pop the balloon with thumbtacks’. My prize that I proudly took home was a beautiful, beta-carotene goldfish I promptly named Swimmy. I carried him around in my arms for the entire remainder of the day that I wasn’t strapped into a roller coaster seat. Well, it turns out that I loved him so much that I left him in the car, and I found what remained of him, floating in his ziploc baggie melted by the sun’s futile rays, the following 90-degree afternoon. It was devastating.

The Angels, my friends, are who Swimmy was to me. But we keep leaving him in the car, while a very cool and credible crowd of 39,914 blessed individuals watch onwards, hoping things will turn out differently.

Anyways, see you tomorrow.