Baseball breaks your heart.  It is designed to break your heart.  The game begins in the spring when everything else your gambling addiction begins again and it blossoms makes you rich in the summer.  Filling the afternoons and evenings and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone poor.

-the late, great Commissioner Bart Giamatti

It doesn’t matter that you hold the lead in 43 out of 54 innings if your lights out closer blows three saves.  It doesn’t matter that Ned Yost is a reject castoff of the sad sack Milwaukee Brewers if your own manager is Terry Collins.  It doesn’t matter if your opponent’s offense is fucked without a DH if they have the foresight to make sure and win the All-Star Game.  The list goes on and on…

Postseason experience and mental tenacity are great force multipliers in the October.  The Royals proved that this year, just like the Giants last year, and the Red Sox the year before, as well as just about every team that has ever won a World Series in the past.  It doesn’t matter what conclusions you make after 2,430 regular season games, you have to take that into account (unless the Marlins make the playoffs).

As a Rangers fan, I am very well used to October heartbreaks by now.  This year, however, the gambling gods were cruel enough to make me experience a new kind of heartbreak…

In addition to Mets +160, I placed a futures bet in August for the Rangers to win the AL West, the Mets to win the NL, and the Blue Jays to win the World Series.  It was $100 to win 7 grand.

So fuck the 8th inning of Game 4…

Fuck Ryan Goins…

Fuck this little twerp and fuck the MLB for not calling his fan interference…

Fuck this god damned called strike in the 9th with runners on 2nd and 3rd and no outs in Game 6…

Fuck everything that happened in the World Series and fuck baseball.  Until free agency starts up.