As a Philadelphia transplant to New Hampshire, I brought many things with me when I moved in 1984 to my new New England digs.  There is my predictable love of cheese steaks — along with the eternally unhappy (and some would say annoyingly obsessive) search to find a decent one in these parts.  There’s my nostalgia for the softer spring times (and longer lacrosse seasons) of the mid-Atlantic states.  And there’s the quirky, Kierkegaardian bent that I can bring to sporting events — and most certainly to any championship series. 

So here we are in 2007, and here we go again!  The Red Sox are now down two games to one to the Indians after losing last night.  I can feel the cold, dark undertow pulling at me.  My initial coping mechanism  is to become crazily optimistic — a cover for what’s really going on inside!  I certainly don’t want to add my pessimism — or ANY negative psychic energy — to the cosmic weight that the team is already contending with.

Ah yes, here we are.  It’s October and things appear to be taking a downward turn.  I’m from Philadelphia.  I feel right at home!