I'm Sorry: An Apology I Suppose

I'm Sorry: An Apology I Suppose

I have a confession.  I am only able to do this now because the events of yesterday have eased the silent suffering I have had the misfortune to endure since Friday night.  The only way I can confess to my horrible atrocity is through the written word.  Attempting to say my deeds out loud cause my mouth to quiver and my tongue to freeze.  Man, look me using a word like quiver.  It feels good to write in a fancy boy style again.  Two days ago the thought of me using a word like quiver or even atrocity would have caused my fingers to explode right on each respective letter of my keyboard.  God, you don’t know how good it feels to hyperbolize again (Is that even a word hyperbolize?  Look at me going off on a tangent.  How long has it been?  And using an extended parentheses; I’m slowly becoming whole again).  Well I’ll be, I’ve forgotten what I was writing about (to complete this image, imagine me with a dainty southern handkerchief in an all-white Tom Wolfe suit).  Wow, I had nearly forgotten about the hidden pleasures of a Tom Wolfe ramble during my time of intense torment.  What once was my insufferable pain, what once was my terrible affliction, what was my horrible curse was promptly lifted at precisely 4:30 Sunday afternoon.  The cross I had to bear was that it was me who caused the Yankees to lose 12-8 to the Red Sox in the second game of their four game set.

Yep, it was all me.  This isn’t Phil Hughes or Joba Chamberlain writing this (but they probably should be writing some other form of apology), this is Jason Thompson.  That loss lies solely on me.  Not on their spotty relief work, but on me.  I’ll explain if you’ll let me.  What you won’t let me and you don’t care, well that sir or madam is very rude.  Here I am about to bear my soul out and I get no support at all.  Some AA sponsor you would be.  Well screw you jerk, here it comes anyway.

The reason I take full blame for the Yankees loss was the fact that I left my seat during the pivotal seventh inning to pursue some ultimately trivial tasks.  Through six glorious innings, I watched the bombers dominate the cavemen that populate the Red Sox and I nary moved an inch.  I just sat on my chair spellbound and swallowed by the present action.  The score was a comfortable 8-3, so I decided it was safe to leave and perhaps divulge into other matters.  Apologies at this time seem pointless, but my bad on that one.  Once I left, Phil Hughes decided to start the suck train express and it carried over to Boone Logan until it hit the always popular destination of Joba Chamberlain.  If I had never left they would have won.  Again I apologize profusely and can only say my bad.  The sad part is I didn’t even leave for the full inning.  I came back to check on Hughes and as I watched the damage unfold, I could see the despair in his eyes.  Why Jason, why have you forsaken me, Hughes and Logan asked.  I had no answer.  Why am I still on the team, Joba asked?  I had no answer for that one as well.  I just sat there and knew I had to bury the burden of blame.

But now that that’s out in the open and the Yankees won yesterday, my pain has been released.  All I can say now is who gives a fuck!  I’m all good now.  Bing, bang, boom pain released.  If only everything was this simple.