Fine by me.
(I'm just saying the Sox will always be cursed by something.)
My father was born in Boston in April of 1921. Every season since he could read, he followed the Red Sox with the emotion of a desert prophet. Every season they broke his heart. My father passed away this January at the age of 82. He is now in heaven (or so I pray). Perhaps finally, he can have a say in how his beloved Red Sox fare. God Bless Them.