Mr. Chadwick and I regret our lack of correspondence during the recent, brief spate of play-off tilts.
We misplaced our typing devices in the same place the Bostons left their vim, fortitude and resilience. It is possible Mr. Papelbon's hurling ability was hidden in a dark corner there, as well.
Until such time as the Duffy's washes the taste of disgust from my throat, I direct you to the sentiments with which we mourned the end of last year's contesting season.
Requiem for a season
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