We few, We happy few, shall remember this Niemann's Day.

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I know the past few days have been tough. You're broken, you're sore, you're tired of staying up until 1 or 2 in the morning just to see another heart-wrenching loss. But Boston's pitching is still horrible, and their lineup is about to take another hit with Youk's suspension. Texas is faltering against the Indians, and they're just as bad on the road as we are. They have to go through the entire AL East, including the Rays, in the next few weeks. This can be done. Nay, this must be done. The bandwagon is emptying so the idiots can focus on fool's ball. This is the time. This is the place. The comeback starts now. The comeback starts today. The comeback starts on St. Niemann's Day.

    What's he that wishes so?
    The user Raymondo? No, my fair DraysBay’rs;
    If we are mark'd to lose, we are enough
    To cheer the team, even if a loss; and if to win,
    The fewer fans, the greater share of bandwagon to ourselves.
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one fan more.
    By Jove, I am not covetous for no-hitters,
    Nor care I how many sit in the Dome;
    It yearns me not if BJ Upton strikes out;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
    But if it be a sin to covet the playoffs,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from the Bay.
    God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
    As one fan more methinks would share from me
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Raymondo, through my host,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
    Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
    And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
    We would not cheer in that man's company
    That fears his fellowship to cheer with us.
    This day is call'd the feast of Niemann.
    He that outlives this season, and sees a playoff game this year,
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
    And rouse him at the name of Niemann.
    He that shall survive this season, and see these playoffs,
    Will yearly on the vigil brag to his co-workers,
    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Niemann.'
    Then will he make a joke and talk about the WAR,
    And say 'These thingss I learn’d on Niemann's day.'
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But we'll remember, with advantages,
    What feats we did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    David the King, MVB and Beejus,
    Evan and Zaun, Maddon and Friedman-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
    This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And Niemann Niemann shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered-
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that cheers this team with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition;
    And gentlemen in Tampa Bay now-a-watching-the-Bucs
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That cheered with us upon Saint Niemann's day.