Today was a sad day for the female citizens of Red Sox Nation. I suppose it was also a sad day for some of the male citizens, but that is not the Cincinnati Kid's business. We here at Sedition in Red Sox Nation advocate tolerance for everybody, with the notable exceptions of Red Sox fans and the Boston media. We also refer to ourselves in the third person and show a flagrant disregard for employing the editorial we right on top of the third person. I think that makes it triply flagrant, using the editiorial we in a blog that cries to the heavens for competent editing.

Theo Epstein, or America's Prom Date as he's known on this site, is getting married. Personally, I don't care. However, it does afford me an opportunity to add insult to the injury some fans felt when the news broke.

I am not as impressed with Theo as everybody else in New England seems to be. He did bring Boston it's first World Series since Woodrow Wilson ran the show. That is a fairly impressive accomplishment. Of course, the list of Red Sox GMs from 1918 to 2003 doesn't read like a roster of Nobel Prize Winners. And yes, I am still deeply disappointed that the Sox won that title.

I don't think that I am bitter about it, though. I was bitter before that day, and I will be bitter come October, when I can throw a little Crowded House on the radio and torment Red Sox Nation when they fall short of the Promised Land. I do hate the Red Sox more now than I did before they won the Series, but I find myself hating the Red Sox more each day than I did on the day before. That's been going on for a long time now, it's actually starting to worry me. It can't be good for my health. But if it kills me, I will have died doing something that I loved, so I have that going for me, which is nice.

But back to Theo. I guess I wish him the best in his personal life. At least I try not to wish him any ill beyond total and complete professional failure so long as he runs the team. What bothers me is the amount of attention people pay him. I don't know that what he did was all that much more impressive than Ken Williams putting together a championship White Sox team.

Now that I think about it, I think Ken Williams had a much tougher task building that team than Theo had winning in Boston. The White Sox have a smaller payroll (103 mil vs. 120 for the BoSox), a longer tradition of losing (1917 vs. 1918 might not seem so big, until you factor in the thrown series in 1919), a worse relationship with the local media (the CHB for as big a tool as he is pales in comparison with Jay Mariotti) and maybe the worst behaved fans in the free world (Eagles fans are bad, but when has the wife of an opposing player been hit in Philly?).

And then there's Halloween. The GM of the team with the second highest payroll in Major League Baseball snuck out of the team offices in a gorilla suit? I'm still having trouble accepting that. Some of my friends, who for reasons of their own root for the Sox, have attempted to convince me that this was cool. I am not buying that. To me, it called to mind images of Magnum PI sneaking out of the Robin Masters' estate because he promised Higgins he'd water the begonias.

I think the best part of the whole mess is that it reaffirmed one key fact. The Globe sports department sucks. That fact has been well established. After all, I am but the latest in a long line of bloggers and other types who have gone at the CHB. But when push comes to shove, the lions in their dens between Landsdowne and Yawkey Way tremble at the CHB's approach.

Our beloved Theo, Prom Date to the Dateless, Spendthrift Disciple of Billy Beane and Mastermind To End All Masterminds dressed in a gorilla costume. A nice nod to the day, perhaps, but not the way to go out. If I were going to go out, I'd go out like Brian Cox when he came out to the boos of the Buffalo fans, with both birds held high. Or maybe like a drunken Tony Montana bidding his fellow restaurant patrons to say good night to the bad man.

I suppose I'm being a bit harsh to Theo. No matter what he's done among my enemies, his grandfather did write Casablanca. That should be worth a free pass for a generation or two. I imagine it would be, were I not a sad, small person consumed by trivial hatreds. But I admit that. That makes me a good person.