A. Bartlett Giamatti was right . . .

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.

And so it ends . . .

The end began on the little television above the bored attendant at Sacco's Bowl Haven in Somerville.

Papi struck out, Manny grounded out, and the White Sox were six outs away from the American League Championship Series.

I was whistling "Ashokan Farewell" as I walked out of Sacco's, following two strings of candlepin bowling in which I barely broke 100 -- combined. The song was stuck in my head from hours earlier when I stopped to listen to the Somerville High School Orchestra playing in front of the Davis Square T stop. Four kids on violins, one on viola and their teacher on a bass -- or some other instrument the size of a Cooper Mini.

I was gonna toss in some money, because I always like it when people donate money to my kids. Then they swing into "Ashokan Farewell," the theme song from the Ken Burns Civil War series. It's stuck in my head -- even now -- and I refuse to let it be replaced by "Istanbul, not Constantinople," which lodged itself in my brain yesterday when I was teaching about the Ottoman Empire. In fact, I am gonna bring it up on LimeWire.

I tossed the orchestra kids a 10-spot and went on back to The Diesel, which I had left because I needed to pump the meter because I really do not need to fund the Somerville city budget. I had been at The Diesel because I wanted to get some correcting done before the weekend, so I could enjoy myself a little. I gave fours sets of quizzes today, and they are all corrected and logged. I also started on the first set of sophomore essays -- Compare and contrast the American Revolution and French Revolution. I had a coffee, a hot cider and a bowl of Italian Wedding Soup. It was heavy on the spinach and light on the meatballs, but this is The Diesel after all. Speaking of which: How addicted is this city? The game was on in The Diesel. Whudda thunk it?

Anyway, it's over. It's really over.

I listened to most of the end on the way home, then switched on the radio in the kitchen to hear The End. And, of course El Duque had to be there to jam the bats down our throats. I hate Yankees. I hate ex-Yankees. The only ones I like are Thurman Munson, and he's dead, and Roger Clemens, who I would absolutely love to see stuff the bats down the Yankees' throats. Better yet, someone else. I don't want the Yankees in the Series. I want them in the tank.

I am now listening to "Boomer Sooner." Oddly, I was teaching about the Sooners this week, too.

Looks as though being a Bruins' fan ain't gonna work either.

I need to watch "For Love of the Game" to cheer me up.

What's the countdown to Spring Training?

Updates

Speaking of Weight Watchers, I lost a kilogram in the last eight days.

No beer for two weeks.

The Red Sox are still eliminated from the playoffs.

I am going to write the baseball novel for NaNoWriMo.

Why I love country music . . .

"Cowboys love the ladies, like beans and sourdough."

"Tequila makes her clothes fall off."

"She didn't say no . . . She said Hell no"

And something I found drifting like flotsam and jetsam along the tide of the Internet . . . and not written by George Carlin:

I like hard women, hard liquor and a hard bowel movement first thing in the morning. I believe you don’t have to speak with a lisp to pick out a couch for your living room. I'll admit that the only movie that ever made me cry was Field of Dreams. I didn't realize Dr. Seuss was a genius until I had a kid. I will not conform or compromise just to keep from hurting somebody's feelings. Sometimes I throw my soft drink can in the trash, even when the recycle bin is just a few more steps. Making love is fine, but sometimes I wanna get laid. I'm neither angry nor disenfranchised, no matter how desperately the mainstream media would like the world to believe otherwise.

I am listening to the London Symphony Orchestra doing "Stairway To Heaven." I annot remember if it was new_man or herooftheage (If you are not reading herooftheage, you should. He's posting some amazing stuff.)

And from my favorite philosopher, Crash Davis:

"Relax, all right? Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring! Besides that, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls - it's more democratic."

And because I just cannot read it enough:

"Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

From Joe Canada

Hey, I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader....
I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled....
and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada,
although I'm certain they're really really nice.

I have a Prime Minister, not a president.
I speak English and French, not American.
And I pronounce it 'about', not 'a boot'.

I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack.
I believe in peace keeping, not policing,
diversity, not assimilation,
and that the beaver is a truly proud and noble animal.
A toque is a hat, a chesterfield is a couch,
and it is pronounced 'zed' not 'zee', 'zed' !!!!

Canada is the second largest landmass!
The first nation of hockey!
and the best part of North America

My name is Joe!!
And I am Canadian!!!

The Video is there.