After watching the Sox score 25 runs over the last two games, I had a sinking suspicion that Commander Kickass might get robbed this afternoon. After all, the guy would have, I dunno, like 83 wins so far this season were it not for the fact that the offense tends to go tits-up whenever he takes the hill.

And, yeah, it happened again. Beckett wasn’t perfect. But four runs is a deficit our offense should be able to overcome. Still, we got some drama for our money, including a damn fine “if only” moment in the ninth when pinch-hitter Carl Crawford, representing the winning run, lofted a long, deep drive to right field that seemed destined to end up in the seats. Sadly, it ended up in Jeff Francoeur’s glove.

In my mind, AKA Beerland, Crawford’s still at the bottom of a pigpile, the Fenway crowds roaring his name while Heidi Watney tries to collar him for post-game chat about his walk-off. It’s a big, big moment for a guy who’s had his struggles this year, and it’s a (manly) tear-inducing thing to behold.

You’d like Beerland, people. It’s nice.

Anyway, splitting a series with one of the worst teams in baseball wasn’t how I planned to spend my Thursday. Hopefully things will change in Chicago.