Folks, I follow two golden rules in this life. Number one is never pick up a hooker named “Armando.” The other, with all due respect to that “Denton” fellow, is never, ever hate on your team.

Yeah, maybe I’m talking about John Lackey. Or maybe I’m talking about Jim Willoughby. You’ll never know, because the mind of the Ellis Burks Glamour Shot is an enigma wrapped in a riddle served with a heaping plate of “Don’t Ever Go Soft On Your Team, Bitch.” If you’ve followed the Boston Red Sox for even a fraction of your Cap’n Crunch noshin’ life, you’ll know that you take the bad with the good. And you never, ever kick a man in the balls when he’s down on his knees. Unless you’re a particularly hot woman and he’s paid you to do so.

Understand this: We’re going to the playoffs. Because a team with Gonzo and Youk and Ellsbury and that short bald guy doesn’t just go bad overnight. What we’ve got right now is called a bump in the road. Nothing more. So you can sit there and point fingers and call every guy on the team a sunuvabitch, or you can hop on board the S.S. October and share some of my ice cold beers and will these motherflippers to start winning games again. That’s called a no-brainer, people.

Yes, I get upset, too. In fact, I once called out Larry Parrish for shaking his fist in anger after a Kevin Romine error. You don’t hear much from Larry these days. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions there.

Negativity’s a slippery slope. One day, you’re saying John Lackey sucks. The next, you’re picking up your teeth at a Kool and the Gang concert. I don’t know what that means either. But I don’t need to. I’m the Ellie Burks Glamour Shot. I’m not just driving the bus, I built the motherf%$king thing. The only question I have for you is: Are you on or are you off?

I know where I am. And the beer here is cold and the women quite frisky. Dig.