Once again, New York had the Red Sox flat on the ground with their pinstriped boot lodged tightly on the Bostonian’s neck. But, instead of maintaining pressure until the Sox’ life-force faded to black, the Yankees knelt down, pressed their lips on that of their foe, and administrated the kiss of life.
Will this repeated failure to go for the jugular again lead to great despair? Tune in tomorrow.
Then again, maybe I just take this stuff too seriously?