I am a sinner.
It was not Maddon’s deployment of the bullpen or any other reason that cost the Rays the win in game 5.
It was me.
Yes, I am to blame. Not once but twice I tempted the fates of the game and defied the saints of superstition by conducting myself with behaviors to suggest the Rays had already won the ALCS. I guess you can say I had a couple of premature exclamations. On Wednesday I gloated to an office mate (a Red Sox) fan and then again found myself pouring over Philly’s rotation as the top of the 7th unfolded.
Thus I find myself contrite and suppliant as I offer up this novena to the gods of baseball. For all those who may have sinned as I have let us don sackcloth and ash (or flannel and wool unis) and beg forgiveness with this prayer.
“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximus culpa.
Oh deity of the diamond, I pray that you forgive me for my gleeful gloating over the gallant Algonquin guardians of this glorious game. I must have been temporarily insane or intoxicated with unbridled bliss and elation to have made such impetuous remarks last Wednesday. It was I who was bamboozled by Beelzebub and now I stand before you humbled and humiliated seeking absolution.
Oh christ of the Cowbell hear my plea. I accept responsibility and kneel before you penitent. I beseech you (which I believe is legal in the state of Florida) Oh savior of the Cowhide Sphere, allow Game 5's 8 run comeback to be the full extent of my chastisement and I promise never to sin again. Deliver us a victory Saturday and I promise I will always do the dishes, make my bed, never disobey, be to work on time, never speed or flash the finger in traffic, pick my nose, or leave the lid up.
Suffer not the Rays, Oh redeemer of the Rosin Bag. I implore you Oh lord of the Louisville Slugger, send down your holy spirit of Selig for intercession that the Rays' feet be swift, their bats virile, their gloves soft and their arms dominant over the nylons from the northeast this weekend. This I pray in your name Oh prince of the Pine Tar.