Crap.

You've probably heard. Schill's shoulder is on the outs and it seems likely that he may not be able to pitch next season.

It was nice while it lasted, wasn't it? The feeling that the world was going our way-everything was coming up Red Sox. They were the World Series champions, they brought most of their players back, and other players wanted to come and play in Boston. It was such a nice feeling that I even started to forget my grim, New England-ish outlook on life.

But the baseball gods were having none of it. They smote us for our hubris, they smote us good. Schill was just unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of their ire.

Back in November (when I still remembered how to be a Red Sox fan), I predicted that something bad had to happen to even the score if they re-signed Mike Lowell. I figured that Josh Beckett accidentally shooting himself in the foot would make things even but the gods are fair. Losing Schilling, who managed to come through when it was really needed, makes us (Red Sox fans and the baseball gods) closer to even for managing to keep Lowell.

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach is a familiar one. It's the feeling that next season isn't going to be a walk in the park. That it's not going to be easy, in the least. That, in all likelihood, the Red Sox will be lucky to win the wild card.

In all seriousness, Curt has done a lot for this team and I wish him a speedy and complete recovery from the injury.