Written by Ossurworld
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Topics: Red Sox Nation

Thursday, 12 July 2012

Everyone talks about the weather, but no one can do anything about it. The same axiom applies to the Red Sox.

Everyone complains about the team, but the ownership won't do anything about it. The cloudburst over their heads may last through September.

In New England there is a saying, coined by Mark Twain, that if you don't like the weather, just wait a minute-and it will change.

Unfortunately, we can wait till hell freezes over, but the Red Sox will not change any time soon. The Red Sox have cornered the market on unmovable objects.

In the Midwest when drought and dust doomed the area, a bunch of men traveled around the countryside billing themselves "Rainmakers." Through mumbo-jumbo chants and rituals, they promised to make rain fall on the parched earth.

Red Sox Rainmakers are called media insiders.

These snake-oil salesmen do the television and radio circuit, selling their easy solutions to the Red Sox conundrum.

Prayer was the primary tool of traveling showmen who used the techniques of traveling preachers who'd throw up a tent and take the money of the faithful.

Red Sox media carry a big umbrella and speak loudly. By the all-star break, Sox fans began wearing galoshes and ear plugs. Some even started to avoid Fenway Park to hold on to their money.

During the dark days of the 1940s in Boston came the prayer from Brave souls: "Spahn and Sain, and a day of rain…"

Nowadays the rally cap and drumming in the Fenway bullpen has been attempted. If you tried to chant, "Beckett and Lester and a day of rain…" you'd end up with three days of rain.

Apres Felix Doubront, le deluge.

The Red Sox even tried human sacrifice, by forcing Kevin Youkilis to the Pale Sox. They'd need to throw Adrian Gonzalez into a spewing volcano if sacrifices were allowed to appease baseball gods.

The Mayan high priests might try cutting the heart out of Beckett and Lackey, only to find someone beat them to it.

All this goes to the plain fact that the Red Sox ownership has tossed rainmaker rituals out with the dirty bath water.

Of course, in Boston we love that dirty water.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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