I...I...I don't know what to say. It's taken me two days just to get to Blogger, to have the stomach to speak of what happened on Thursday night. Scooter lived to tell the tale, although he seems a bit nervous around me now. My wife felt so bad, we had a special dinner last night (two big martinis too) just to soothe me.

All I can say is, Red Sox fans demand a sacrifice, and that sacrifice is manager Grady Little (the nicknames have already started: "Stuart Little," Grady Little League," etc.). He is almost wholly responsible for this debacle and should not be welcomed back to Fenway. Faced with open fan revolt and a bitter roasting from both national and local media, Little must do the honorable thing and decline to return before the team makes that move in the coming couple of weeks.

In the biggest Red Sox game in 17 years, probably the biggest in team history (at least in the fabled '86 Game 6 you had a Game 7 to try and rebound -- in '86 there was a tomorrow -- AND the '03 game was against our biggest rival), "that man" flinched, "that man" blinked, "that man" extended our misery. It wasn't Pedro -- he left everything he had on that field. It wasn't Wakefield -- what cruel fate that he was left "holding the bag" with the Boone homer. I am sure Grady is a lovely man, great at a backyard bbq, a good friend and neighbor, but he was hired to win baseball games. And in the biggest of all, he screwed up and is a national laughingstock.

Goodbye, Mr. Little. You are persona non grata in these parts.