Everybody has their breaking point.  No man is strong enough to bear repeated disappointments, failures, indignities, and abominations before eventually feeling some deep primal darkness well up from the depths of his soul, burst into angry fruition and shout "I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I QUOTE MOVIES TO PROVE IT!"

For me, the final straw were a few words posted at the top of a completely innocuous box score:  Fresno 4, San Francisco 3.  Then, for added insult, that "L" next to Barry Freaking Zito's name in the pitching line.

This cannot be happening.  I can read the most horrifying of H.P. Lovecraft's fiction about how man is a completely irrelevant dot in an uncaring universe and feel hardly a frisson of dismay.  This, though...this has me ready to load the silver bullets and the crosses and the garlic fries into my knapsack, and to go looking for pods in the basement.

Many of you know me as a fairly upbeat, positive individual not given to frothing and raging.  Well, I'm passing out tar and feathers now, and lighting the pitchforks and handing out torches.

Post your most ridiculous ideas for protesting the dismal state of 100% Bonds-Free San Francisco Baseball Club.  Who's with me?  It's time to storm the Bastille!!!  RHUBARB!  RHUBARB!  RHUBARB!!