We have been united in nostalgia and misery. Both emotions invite wallowing, and goodness knows we've had our share. Here and at Safeco, tucked away in living rooms, and garages with radios playing games lost, we've wallowed. Our identities as fans have been marked by our endurance. We have shown a weird ability to survive sports suffering. We have perhaps enjoyed that fortitude a bit too much, taking the justifiable frustration with failed trades (surely they won't make this mistake again?) and bad teams (surely they won't be this bad again?) and mistaking our odd preference for baseball regardless of victory for some sort of moral superiority.
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