I think the whining about the whining has exceeded the actual whining. SoSH has become a delightful singularity of whining.
My whining, however, is noble.
It is freighted with history, watered by the tears of young Bernie Carbohydrate, lisping out the question, "Who is Gary Allenson?" to his enraged father in the winter of 1980. Daddy firing a can of Gansett against the wall -- the only acceptable answer.
I whine so as to call Red Sox Nation to account, and my words are like fire, to keep them in would be to burn.
By June the Main Board will be safe for the Knights of the Spreadsheet, free to sensibly grunt about Verdugo's VORA (Value Over Replacement Asshole) and the inestimable virtues of "The Reset."
Let the Sensible Men of SoSH go to Fenway this summer and start the wave when The Reset comes to bat with the bases loaded. Hell, go ahead and retire The Reset's uniform number, put it up there beside Fisk.
Clap in the 2004 way, but now instead of "Nomar's Better" we can chant "Je-ter's bet-ter - clap-clap clap-clap-clap. Jeter, indeed, is better for the bottom line. Maybe he can bat between Verdugo and The Reset in our own Murderer's Row (sorry, that's the Videotape the Assaulter's row).
But until then, this thread is about "How Excited Are You." Oh I am excited. I am excited to let every Mookie homer screaming across Chavez Ravine carve a scar into the stinking corpse of the 2020 Red Sox campaign. Pink me now, this is all I am anymore.