I blame you. I blame me. I blame all of us.
We’ve been sitting here begging and praying and doing voodoo and burning various herbs (hopefully with Tim Lincecum invited) in hopes that the San Francisco Giants would remember how to hit a baseball again, and we forgot to add the qualifier that they needed to keep remembering how to pitch and field. We found a genie in a lamp and in his best Robin Williams voice he gave us three wishes, and we asked for a million dollars, the ability to run really fast, and for our dead dog to come back to life, and the genie gave us those things, laughed at us for not asking for more wishes, and then disappeared forever.