SoxFan had fallen asleep shortly after the score became 7-0:

... Awoken by a ping on my cell phone and a message on the screen from a former employee who I knew was at the game, I instantly knew. The message said, simply, "oh my".

Oh my. Oh my indeed.

Ellie was in full texting mode:

From Manny's silly plate appearance to the alleged bats at the bottom of the order, Red grew frustrated last night - all the more so because watching the game meant several hours of ESPN announcers:

... [A] loss after you've had to endure four hours of Joe Morgan and Jon Miller is like a form of torture. Why can't ESPN offer alternate audio tracks, kinda like a DVD, enabling viewers to choose from either the actual commentating or something a little less aurally offensive, like squealing breaks, an iron glove on a chalkboard, or Stephen Hawking reading all the Frank Booth dialogue from Blue Velvet?

The one on Newbury Street, not the one in Newton:

... I thought I was hallucinating when a big white SUV pulled up to the curb on Newbury St., and out jumped Big Papi, accompanied by his entourage (mostly men, as far as I could tell, with the exception of one fetching young female). I stopped and stared, along with a few other humble pedestrians, and Papi gave us a little head nod as we let them pass. ...

The Herald reports: Ouch.

Better watch out, Fitzy, this kid will have your job some day:

Neasa paints a picture of just how much she likes David Ortiz.

All hail the walk-off king of Fenway Park. Beth was there:

... It was like a movie, where the action goes into slow motion and all sound is replaced by a seashell roar. If I close my eyes, I can still see that ball, so clear against a flat black night sky that I swear I could see the red blur of its stitches as it passed.

The reaction overtook us like a breaking wave, spreading out from the epicenter of the fans with the best view in the corner to the sections around them, and so on, until the chaos crashed over our heads, too, subsuming us in dancing, shouting, laughing, hugging. ...

In the comfort of his living room, Red exults:

... It seemed like a lifetime since I'd seen the guys scrambling toward the plate in a mad dash, throwing themselves around Papi with wild abandon. But, man, watching it unfold again is like slipping on a pair of comfortable shoes, finding an extra twenty in your back pocket, and learning your favorite hooker just happens to be available the night you're in Minnesota. It feels good.

Flip the coin and it would have been hellfire and Rob Schneider, 24/7. ...

Red recovers to write:

... Nothing frightens me more than the sight of David Ortiz trying to leg out an extra base. His is a body crafted for home run trots, light strolls through the Public Gardens and brisk sashays to the buffet table at Kowloons to see if they've replenished the boneless spare-rib tray. But barrelling mad-assedly into third while an outfielder readies his throw? No, no, no, please. My heart can't take it. ...

David Ortiz is auctioning off a 2005 Mercedes-Benz he bought himself as a gift for helping the Sox win the 2004 World Series. Opening bid starts at only $169,000 for this red SL-Class SL65 AMG.

This car will be hand delivered at Fenway Park to the lucky winner of this auction by Big Papi, himself. He will bring you your new car with keys and title in hand.

Via Loaded Gun.

Red: Down Goes The Hindenburg: A Dramatic Reenactment By David Ortiz.

And he's getting sued.