Bobby Valentine has become the new alchemy standard of baseball managers in a field of semi-precious gold nuggets.
Alchemy is not fool's gold, but is a loose science that comes up with real gold through artificial chemistry.
Those who spent lives and careers trying to "make" gold usually ended up like the Red Sox, in the cellar.
Fenway Park bricks sold as commemorative items earlier this year begin to look less like bullion from Fort Knox and more like a yellow brick road to nowhere.
In April, when there appeared to be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the Sox celebrated the 100th anniversary of Fenway, which just happened to coincide with the 100th anniversary of the sinking of H.M.S. Titanic.
As with the infamous ship, the Red Sox have sunk while pursuing the golden horizon, going down like the sun in the waning days of summer.
To reach the apex of the game again, Red Sox PR mavens may need to seed the Monster Seats at Fenway Park with a goldplate veneer. Once coveted like Kugerrands, the Monster Seats now seem a good place to hide the family jewels. The fans, sounding like King Midas, have cried, "enough."
The gold has turned to crap.
This season Roger Clemens and Joan Rivers sat in the Monster Seats (no, not together), but now the seats will need to be salted with gold dust to attract fans and fannies.
There is a sell-out streak at Fenway Park, but the rush for seats may be going the way of the 49ers at Donner Pass.
Once a gold mine, the Red Sox franchise at Fenway has become the latest to wear a patch, "2013 or Bust."
As the season melts down, fans begin to think about the Red Sox in the same way we think about melting down old class rings for extra cash.