How will Kennedy's death affect the pennant race?

We went 22-6 after the Pope broke his wrist, raising suspicions that B-Dict had been secretly praying against us for years. Once his cast came off, we began struggling. We stumbled in Chicago -- a team now lying down with neck exposed for Boston -- and then the Small Market Redsocks traded two blind bus drivers for Billy Wagner.

It's obvious, dammit: The Pope made some calls, cashed in some IOUs, dropped a dime on Ted Kennedy. Do the math: Boston connection, big funeral, tropical storm headed that way, Posada reinjures finger -- and nobody talking about Papi's drug abuses. It's so perfect, so clean. I just wish we knew what role John Henry's new, 30something wife played here. Let's face it, whenever a hottie marries a Rupert Diaperdock moneywad, she's working angles. Dammit: If we learned nothing from the final season of "Lost," we learned that.

What's her angle? How did she end up working for the Pope? What does she know?

Kennedy's death won't rally the Democrats to health care. It will rally the Redsocks. It will affect the pebble-sized brain of Kevin Youkilis, a gelatin mass that's taken so many jolts, he probably thinks Bert Convey is president. In their secret motel room, early each morning, John Henry's wife is probably whispering things into Youk's ear, like the demented evil mother in "Manchurian Candidate," telling him to throw his helmet at opposing pitchers whenever he hears sound of a ball striking a helmet.

Make no mistake: This is bad. Here's where we needed U.S. Sen. Caroline Kennedy from New York. She could go to Boston, corner some rats, settle things the family way. Not only that, but C-Kenn wouldn't even have had to attend the Great New York State Fair -- which starts today -- and eat a heart-bursting sausage sandwhich for the Fred Dickers of the press. This would have been her ticket out, her doctor's excuse to get Arod back on track.

Write this down: Boston will make a run. We haven't heard the last of Posada's finger.

We need a counterbalance. And worst of all, the Employee of the Month vote -- with its scientifically proven curse -- is coming. Don't print any playoff tickets. The magic number remains infinite.