Mike Scioscia’s tragic illness

*delete* *delete* *delete* *delete* *delete*.

Oh, hello there. Excuse for me just one second.

*delete* *delete* *delete* *slam head into desk* *delete*

Okay, fresh piece of blog paper. All that deleting up there? Well, that was me just finishing up a nice post about the Dodgers’ playoff hopes. That would be me running through some stats of what it would take for the Dodgers to catch the Padres, how many games each could win and lose, etc. etc. This was based on the Dodgers split with Colorado today. Because, up 4 with Broxton and Super Saito, that’s what it was going to be.

Well, if blowing this on home runs off of two fantastic pitchers who DO NOT GIVE UP HOME RUNS isn’t enough of a sign for us, I don’t know what is.

September 18, 2006, was the 4+1 game that will live on forever in Dodger annals.

September 18, 2007, was the death knell to this season.

Sorry, folks. It’s over. Done. Finished. The motherfucking plane has crashed into the motherfucking mountain. Even a few weeks ago when I was pretty down on our chances, I’d never really given up hope. But now? Forget it. Time to go home. Time to stop living and dying every night on this team. Time to take a breather and reflect on what’s been working and what hasn’t been working. And this shit? Just ain’t working.

Oh, we’ll still be posting here. Don’t you worry about that. Hopefully my next post will be a little more composed and less rambling than this. Consider this just the stream-of-conciousness of a tormented Dodger fan who’s realized that for the 20th season in a row, he’s poured his heart into a collection of guys who just can’t get the job done.

- Mike Scioscia’s tragic illness