I know, I know. I’m spoiled. But as I see it, if Paps is gonna blow a game, it’s gotta be all hellfire and raining molten lava, against an opponent who would make John Wayne himself quiver in his boots and run off crying like a six-year old kid.

I’m talking Tony Stark in his full Iron Man suit, strolling to the plate to atomize the ball across Kenmore Square. Or the Emperor from the Star Wars flicks zapping the Papel-Bot with electric bolts from his fingertips until he gives up the game. Or the Junkyard Dog, Jimmy Snuka and Big John Studd bodyslamming Paps into submission, leaving him broken, battered, but still giving them the finger as they walk away.

But the bottom of the f–king A’s line-up? Guys named Bobby, Danny and — heaven help us — Travis? Guys who look like they should be working at Applebees or rigging lights at the Tweeter Center?

It simply didn’t make a lick of sense to me, even as I watched it unfold before my eyes. I just kinda sat there, like a dog contemplating a Monet, not knowing whether to bite something or whiz on the carpet. When Paps comes into a game and leaves the field without a fist in the air and a W in his pocket, it’s just too foreign a concept for me to wrap my arms around.

Still, I pin this one on the offense. We had plenty of chances to put this away — including big guns Papi and Manny in the bottom of the tenth — but couldn’t make it happen. Lugo and Tek have gone cold again, Manny’s still not quite breaking out, and Dustin, god love him, just keeps freefalling toward the Mendoza line. I know Tito figgers the only way to jump start Pedroia is to get him some at-bats, but that means one of the few guys who’s actually swinging a hot bat has to take a seat. And, man, we could have used a little more Cora last night.

And as if we needed any more reasons to love Youk, does anyone get more outraged at his own inability to produce when the chips are down? Last night, when he came up with two out in the tenth and slapped a ball we prayed would make the wall but didn’t, he let out this primal scream, tossed his helmet and clenched his fists like a guy about to punch a truck. For all of us watching at home, it was like looking in a mirror.

In other news, Trot got his first home run as an Injun last night, a three-run jobber that helped sink our AL rivals, the Jays. Thanks, Nix!

The Worst Video Ever Made, Part 2
Yesterday, I threw down the gauntlet, defying anyone to show me a worse music video than Styx’ “Music Time.” Well, judging from the comment posts and e-mails, I grossly underestimated just how much suck was out there. And there were some mighty contenders suggested, including:

“Point of No Return” by Nu Shooz. Admittedly an horrific video. But as the band will already be remembered as having the worst. band. name. ever., I’ll give them the mulligan. Although whoever directed/conceived this shyte needs a beating and some photography lessons. And also, a beating.

Videos by actors — especially from the ’80s — should almost be automatically discounted; we don’t need to watch a video by Scott Grimes to know it’s gonna suck. But these two, by Mr. T and Leonard Nimoy, respectively, are so bad they absolutely deserve to be seen, then forgotten.

A number of people pointed out some vids by Squeeze. Alas, as they are among my favorite bands — and I’ll see you all at their upcoming show in Boston — I had to discount them. But I will say this: the band’s video for “Hits of the Year” is like a Cliffs Notes version of everything that was wrong with the 80s, from the hair to the Miami Vice-inspired clothing. That said, it’s still the coolest song about an airplane hijacking that you’ll ever hear. Ever.

Nolan Thomas’ “Yo, Little Brother” is disturbingly 80s, so putrid and offensive it almost deserves to be placed in a sort of capsule and shot to Mars, complemented by a government program that identifies anyone who remembers it and purges the last traces of its memory from their consciousness.

Someone suggested “Heart and Soul” from the Monkees’ ill-conceived 1987 comeback album Pool It! Hating on the Monkees? Sacrilege!

“Who’s Johnny” by El Debarge. When I was reminded of this, I was ready to say, “yes, alright. This is worse than ‘Music Time.'” I mean, check Ally Sheedy’s coy grin at 2:24. And this woman couldn’t sustain an acting career into the 90s? Appalling.

…but then I saw this. “Apache” by Tommy Seebach. And I thought, we have a winner. Bad outfits? Check. Goofy looking musicians — jesus, these guys look like the Kansas City chapter of the Doctor Who Appreciation Society. Questionable setting? “Dudes, we don’t need a f–king soundstage, let’s shoot in my aunt’s backyard.” Is it a joke or serious as a heart attack? Either way, ladies and gentleman, I give you the worst music video ever: