Wow. Forget everything you’ve seen before last night. This was the worst loss of the season. Just a sickening display, and about the angriest I’ve been after a game since John Flaherty broke up Pedro’s no-hit bid back in 2003.

Can’t hold a 6-0 lead against the Tigers? At home? Man, not the way I expected the Fenway win streak to end.

Just… just awful. Awful. And I’m honestly so sick with it, I can’t even write about it. I don’t want to write about. Better to forget it. Have it purged from my memory, Eternal Sunshine-style, and simply walk away.

Also, can I just say that Dmitri Young could scare the lead from a pencil. Mother of God, has there ever been a player whose mere visage inspired more fear than Da Meat’s? The guy has a face only a mother — or Sam — could love, and in my most fevered nightmares, I’m being chased along the Cliff Walk in Newport by a bat-wielding Young, who’s telling me he’s “gonna set my narrow ass straight” for some reason. Coincidentally, one year ago today, Dmitri took over this blog for the very first time.

Hey, good thing Tito pitched Bronson on Wednesday, too, eh? Has Francona helped or hurt the Sox this year? It’s a question Evan at Firebrand analyzed pretty thoroughly. And a lot clearer than my alcohol-saturated mind could ever dream.

Oh, and Alan Embree picks up the win for the Yankees.

Me? I’m just waiting for this afternoon’s performance of Boomer Comes Alive! Don’t mess with his cake.