Beat breast, breathe in the incense fuming from the stencher . . .
Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last Confession was in high school. I angered the baseball gods by declaring--and even discussing openly--that the MMVIII Giants would not, nay, could not, win three ballgames in a row. I discovered that the lads in cream like a challenge, and that Jonathan Sanchez and Kevin Correia hate playing second fiddle to The Enchanter. And that Fred Lewis' voodoo-doll dismantling of our starting LF's knee was motivated by only the noblest of motives, that of "helping the team win" and being a "gamer." I shall endeavor henceforth to go ALL OUT ALL THE TIME and not get snarky about the prominent position of the word OUT and its proximity to the word ALL.
Don't be hard on yourself, me bhoyo, a coupla laps 'round the rosary beads oughta be enough.