Here's to Wes Craven, who should have taught us how to deal with Fenway

I saw "The Last House on the Left" in a theater, when it first came out, and people were urged to tell themselves, "It's only a movie, only a movie, only a movie..." I sat near an old guy, who came alone. Whenever a teenager did something stupid - you know, like going down to the basement - the guy freaked. He shouted, "DON'T GO THERE! DON'T GO!" Over the years, I've wondered if that guy ever again went into a basement without thinking of that movie. Because I sure didn't.

Because of Wes Craven, there are places I can never go without that guy coming along in my head, yelling, "DON'T GO THERE, NO!"

Which is how I feel about Boston.

Nothing good comes out of a Yankee series in Fenway. If we win, we'll injure somebody or merely spark them to be more hateful and murderous. If we lose - like we did last night - it's one of those killing, PTSD-triggering losses that sits in your subconscious for the next ten years. You become the guy yelling, "DO GO THERE! NO!"

Well, Wes Craven is dead, and somewhere there needs to be a scary gravestone with R.I.P. carved below his name... just so his hand can reach up and grab us. But long ago, he stopped scaring me. I simply don't go into stranger's barns, I don't camp out on Crystal Lake, and if I hear screams from the bottom of the well, I dial 9-1-1 instead of lowering myself down there with the conveniently frayed rope. The fact is, I stopped going to horror movies in theaters. But as I get older, "Fever Pitch" with Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore is becoming more terrifying than all the "Screams" combined. Rest in peace, Mr. Craven. I've got other demons to quell. Another series at Fenway. Don't go in there! DON'T GO IN THERE!