Is there such a thing as Baseball Karma?

As I write this, Carl Crawford and Evan Longoria, both of the Tampa Bay Rays, have landed on the disabled list, Crawford with a hand injury and Longoria with a wrist injury.

I am not too broken up about this news.  In fact, I am fairly gleeful about it.

When I heard about Longoria's injury, I may even have giggled a little bit. Have you ever heard a middle-aged man giggle?  It's a sound that will haunt your dreams, my friend.

My girlfriend warns me that I should not find joy in the misfortune of others. But this is baseball!  Anything goes. 

My beloved Boston Red Sox, it seems, are incapable of winning the division under their own power. They need bad things to happen to Tampa. After all, we've had our share of injuries.  It's their turn, damn it!

Am I tempting the fates by taking pleasure in the pain of others? 

Is it possible that such selfish behavior will bring the wrath of the Karma gods down upon the Red Sox? 

Will Dustin Pedroia be bitten by a rabid wolverine?  Will Sean Casey be named as the real baby daddy of that woman that John Edwards messed around with? 

Will Big Papi decide that he would prefer to be Big Mami, and hop a flight to Sweden to consult with a surgeon as to how best to make that happen?

That would not be good.

Or perhaps I will be the one who will be made to pay the price for my transgressions.  Just for the record; there are no wolverines in Kentucky, I've never met Reille Hunter, and I am fairly certain that I am comfortable with my plumbing the way it is. 

So bring it, Karma!

Admit it. You are just as bad as I am. It doesn't make us bad people.  Well, it doesn't make me a bad person. I've never been too sure about you.

Don't look at me like that.