These Rays are gonna find a way to break my heart in the ninth inning like every other team that isn't wearing pinstripes has since we won it all.

These bums are leaving more runners on base than a minor league team, and if they don't wake up in the next two innings I'm driving to Fenway and burning my 2004 championship hat.

We're gonna drop eight runs on these Tampa clowns before the fifth inning stretch and I'll eat my championship ring if I'm wrong.

We didn't break an 86-year curse to lose to a team that plays in a swamp where alligators have better batting averages than their cleanup hitter.

The bats are dead, the starter's laboring, and we're playing in a damn minor league ballpark against a team that shouldn't exist.

The Red Sox are walking into Tropicana Field tonight thinking they can out-scrappy a team that builds championship contenders from spare parts and pure spite, which is adorable and also a massive mistake.

We've already won this game on a shoestring budget and superior analytics while the Red Sox are still figuring out how to read a spray chart.

I've watched this movie enough times to know the Rays find ways to win games nobody expects them to, but the baseball gods are fickle in the second inning and I've learned never to count my chips before the dealer busts.

The Red Sox are about to learn that a tied game in the third inning is basically halftime for a team that makes a living outthinking opponents with half their budget.

We're gonna smoke these Red Sox clowns because our guys know how to win on a shoestring while Boston's out here hemorrhaging nine figures into the luxury tax like a drunk sailor.