Be afraid: In one quick move, the Redsocks could lock up the 2012 world championship

OK, mental workshop, everybody: You’re Chubby Cherrington, the new Boston GM. You’ve worked in the place for years, but nobody knows you. They think you were Theo’s lackey. (Great pun, eh?) Or worse... 

The franchise is adrift. The Redsock Nation wants blood. Stephen King still can’t write a complete sentence. John Henry watches soccer. His wife's face has added 30 years, making her half his age.  Ben Affleck vows to never seed another baby; he cannot bring a child into such a hellworld. 

So, Cherry darlin', ponder this... 

Into your office marches 2011 Redsock icon and free agent Marco Scutero, seeking a three-year deal at $9 million per. 

What do you do?

a)Put the bullet in his heart.
b)Put the bullet in his brain.
c)Both of the above.

The answer, of course, is c.

Scutaro goes into Boston Harbor.

What’s the one move that could re-ignite New England like a misplaced wrench in the Vermont Yankee? Yep, you double-down. You carve your name into the Green Monster as the krazee muffacca GM who don't run chickenshitty: You sign Jose Reyes, NL bat champ, former Met, your new leadoff hitter, in front of Hellsbury and — gulp — Carl Crawfish to form MLB’s fastest front three. You dare Beckett, Lester, Dice and Buckholtz to come back, and you go South with the scariest batting order in the game, and the Fenway frat boys will be drunk on certainty, and Ben Affleck will be pushing semen into Jennifer Garner like a hydrofrack drill nozzle busting gas into the Marsellus Shale.

What can the Yankees do? Nothing. Sign Pujols? Won't happen. Fielder? Hell no. Even if they get Yu Darvish — no guarantee, because Texas will shoot the moon — nobody knows what he is. You get the batting order. We get the question marks.

Be afraid, everybody. Be very afraid.

Cherry is plotting our downfall, as we speak.

And, dammit, we didn’t even win anything. Aint fair.