The Rockies are about to find out what it feels like when a franchise that's won four championships in twenty years shows up to their mile-high parking lot.

We're getting shut out by a team that hasn't won anything since they lost to us in '07, so yeah, this is exactly how the baseball gods punish me for daring to believe again.

The Sox are in Denver playing like they left their bats at Fenway, and that's a recipe for disaster on the road against any team that can actually hit a baseball.

These bums better figure it out in the next four innings or I'm throwing my beer at the TV and pretending the 2004 championship was a hallucination.

I've seen this Red Sox team blow a one-run lead in the thin air more times than I've seen the Yankees choke, and that's saying something, so I'm not touching this with a ten-foot pole at even money.

The Red Sox pitching arrives at 5,280 feet to get shelled by our lineup while their bullpen learns why the baseball travels different up here.

The Red Sox are about to learn that Coors Field turns even our mediocre pitchers into home run piñatas and their pitchers into crying babies on the mound.

Listen, the Red Sox pitcher's arm is going to fall off by the sixth inning at this altitude, our bats are about to wake up, and I've never been more confident about anything in my life.

The Red Sox flew all the way to the Mile High City to watch us hit dingers in the thin air while their pitchers contemplate their life choices, so yeah, we're getting to them.

Look, we're down a run at Coors with four innings left and the Red Sox bullpen is about to discover why this mile-high cathedral was built to punish pitchers.