The debate at work and on sports radio about our expectations for the Red Sox seem to have a generational split. The younger - under 40, and maybe even under-50 - group is talking about its increased expectations from the beginning of the year. They even vaguely recognise that they are being somewhat unfair, and should just be happy with a much better season than they dared hope.
The few older people calling in, or offering opinions at work - those would be my people - are much more pleased just to be here. But there is an undercurrent that I think is important: just don't kill us. The Red Sox can lose, can have unfortunate luck or poor decisions by Farrell, or a bad call, or just get stomped. But don't kill us. Don't have one of those amazingly bad decisions or luck that used to kill us in the old days. No eephus pitches. No leaving a pitcher in beyond what even fifth-graders knew was wise. No misunderstood communications from the 3rd-base coach. No perfect storms of wind changes, corked bats, and the Green Monster. No finishing 0.5 games out because of a strike (1972) or having a better record than a team going to the playoffs because of a strike (1981).
Losing is because of injuries is endurable (1974, 1967). Just don't kill us. For the love of God, let it be 1988 or 1990, not some other haunting death.
Citizens of Cleveland, I know you understand. Pray for us.