The topic of today’s column was originally inspired by the crushing Game Seven defeat suffered by the Anaheim Mighty Ducks last Monday in the Stanley Cup Finals. I was going to talk about the whole concept of a team and its fans having low expectations heading into a season or series, then getting whisked away to a wonderland of far-exceeded expectations, then being on the brink of the most improbable of all results — a championship season — only to have all hopes dashed at the last instant. For a follower of such a team, there is no more painful dagger to the heart than getting caught up in what seems to be a Higher Power–led run, only to face painful reality in the final reel.

We’ll get to the plight of the Mallards in a second, but Thursday night’s Red Sox–Cardinals game at Fenway Park also fit in nicely in this context of the fan who is disappointed, gets surprised, gets caught up in the implausible, ultimately comes to believe in that unexpected miracle, and then — poof! — goes home unfulfilled and crushed.

The Cardinals, behind starting pitcher Garret Stephenson’s sleep-inducing offerings, had effectively shut down a Red Sox offense that had plated 15 runs just the night before, and 22 over the first two games of the series. A portion of the crowd of 34,389 decided to depart before the final chapter was written, but most of the Sox believers stayed, anxious to see perhaps another late-game rally.

And rally they did. When the dust had cleared in the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was tied at three, and Nomar Garciaparra stood at third base with the potential winning run with only one out. A victory that was deemed far-fetched just 20 minutes earlier was now 90 feet away, and the fans were on their feet ready to cheer the game-winning hit by Trot Nixon. Alas, it was not to be, as the lefthander-phobic right fielder popped to first, and Bill Mueller subsequently flied out to end the threat and send the game into extra frames.

Then it happened again. J.D. Drew hit a two-run homer off of supposed closer Brandon Lyon in the top of the 10th, but Garciaparra was the hero again the bottom of the inning when he hit a two-out game-tying single.

Three innings later, some questionable lefty-righty strategy put Redbirds centerfielder Jim Edmonds up against beleaguered Sox reliever Ramiro Mendoza, and the lefty slugger promptly hit a three-run homer run over the Monster Seats in left to give St. Louis a comfortable 8-5 lead.

Or was it? Not so fast, birdbath-breath. Here came the Sox again, as the team ripped off three straight hits in the bottom of the 13th to make it 8-6 with no outs and men on the corners. Inexplicably, the once hot-hitting Mueller — already 0-for-5 in the game — was given the green light on a 3-1 count, and instead of perhaps working a walk to load the bases with no outs, he grounded into a 4-6-3 double play that scored the seventh run but cleared the bases, thereby sealing the Sox’ fate four and a half hours after the first pitch was thrown.

A tough loss for Red Sox fans, certainly, but that was just one night of roller-coaster emotions and ultimate heartbreak (although there have been plenty this season).

But consider the plight of those poor Duck fans out in Southern California. Granted, the area had already had a world champion crowned just seventh months earlier when the cross-town Angels shocked the baseball world by winning the World Series, but that didn’t take away from the astonishing Disneyland ride that the hockey team gave its long-suffering fans over the course of the past eight weeks.

It started harmlessly enough: the Mighty Ones had an impressive 40-27-9-6 record during the regular season, but in the rough-and-tumble Western Conference, that was only good enough for the seventh seed. Even worse, they drew the defending Stanley Cup champs in the first round, the second-seeded Red Wings. It took three overtimes to settle game one, but the Ducks emerged victorious, 2-1. Then they took their second straight in Motown, and suddenly Anaheim was heading back home with a 2-0 series lead.

It couldn’t happen, could it? But it did. A 2-1 victory on home ice gave the Ducks a 3-0 lead, and when Steve Rucchin scored in overtime in game 4, the best team that money can buy became the first defending Cup champ in 52 years to get swept in the first round.

Ducks fans, whose team had won only one playoff series in its 10-year history prior to this one, were understandably ecstatic. But the next level of reality loomed: the top-seeded Dallas Stars, picked by many pre-season prognosticators to have the weapons to win it all. And by all indications they did, but the gods again shone their spotlight on the lower-seeded Quackers, as Anaheim won the first two games on the road — the first a mind-numbing five-OT affair that lasted nearly six hours. Again, Duck goaltender Jean-Sebastien Giguere was the story, stopping 60 of 63 shots in the 4-3 victory.

Now SoCal hockey fans were sitting up and taking notice, and another overtime road victory in Game 2 sent the Ducks back home with another implausible 2-0 series lead. The two teams traded victories over the next four games, but Anaheim took their eighth one-goal victory on home ice in Game 6 to vanquish yet another superior foe. The stars were aligned, the gods were smiling down, and the seventh seeds were in the conference finals against the sixth seed, Minnesota. The Wild had written their own fairytale during the course of the season, and had earned the franchise’s first playoff berth by virtue of an impressive 42-29-10-1 regular season. Which Cinderella would get invited to the big dance?

Who else but the one-goal wonders, as Giguere shut out the Wild in the first three games, and the Ducks finished up the sweep at the Pond in Anaheim with their 10th single-goal victory of the playoffs, 2-1. The Mighty Ducks were actually going to the Stanley Cup Finals.

Imagine being a fan of this team at this point. Karma, fate, kismet, destiny, and perhaps the hottest goaltender in Cup history were seemingly on your side. Granted, the opponent was the defensive-minded New Jersey Devils, but they were offensively challenged to begin with, so they wouldn’t have a chance against the heavens-endorsed Ducks, would they?

It seemed the Devils would confound the keepers of the pearly gates, though, as Martin Brodeur shut out Anaheim at home in the first two games, and the teams headed west with the Jerseyites apparently in firm control of both teams’ destiny.

Then it happened again. Overtime wins in games 3 and 4 lifted the Ducks into a series tie, and though they were manhandled in the Devils’ 6-3 game-five victory, Anaheim fought back to force a seventh game with a sparkling 5-2 victory at home.

The ultimate fever pitch had been reached for fans of the Mighty Ducks. Red Sox fans of 1967, 1975, and maybe even 1986 knew exactly what they were going through. There was no way in heaven or hell that the powers that be were going to allow them to get this far into this extraordinary tale, only to have it end on a downer. It just wouldn’t be prudent to imagine that the Ducks were going to lose, because a game-seven victory would be the perfect ending to a Hollywood tale that would have been impossible for any screenwriter to concoct — even the writers of the original 1992 Disney flick The Mighty Ducks, which inspired the team’s creation and naming — and that fade-to-black victorious conclusion seemed fated weeks before.

But game sevens can be the most painful of all, as Red Sox fans since 1946 and beyond have known. And while it seemed that the Devils’ 3-0 victory last Monday seemed unfair and inconsistent with the storybook chapters that had been written before, on some level it was justified.

Deep down, the Devils were the better team. The Ducks had the goaltender playing over his head, a fan base that could not believe its eyes, and a make-believe script which, page by page, seemed headed for the inevitable denouement: a miraculous championship season. The Devils, on the other hand, had an insufferable coach, a style of play that was frustrating to watch and compete against, and a history that already had seen a pair of Stanley Cup championships in the ’90s. But they were better.

And life, as we all know, does not often seem fair, nor does it stick to the screenplay. Again, we outsiders find ourselves feeling nothing but pity for a group of fans that had no expectations, then saw their hopes lifted to unimaginable heights. They were even given the opportunity to chill the champagne in anticipation of the implausible and wondrous.

Sometimes it works out — as Patriots fans in 2001-2002 can attest — but more often than not, it doesn’t, and the fans of the runners-up can only cherish those astonishing memories while cursing the gods that provided them with what turned out ultimately to be merely a tease.

For when this happens to a group of fanatics, they know full well that as close as they came this time, their next chance may not come for a long, long while, and that even when it does, it won’t seem nearly as magical as the one they just missed.

Sporting Eye runs Mondays and Fridays at BostonPhoenix.com, and Christopher Young can be reached at cyoung[a]phx.com