It's way too late to save the season, of course. That possibility, if indeed it ever existed, ceased to be somewhere between Chris Sale's date with an orthopedic surgeon and the discovery of Eduardo Rodriguez's COVID-19 side effects.
On the other hand, no one anticipated this: the most number of losses in all of baseball. Nor, for that matter, did anyone expect there to an endless succession of anonymous pitchers trudging to and from the mound, with the starting lineup dotted with complete unknowns. Deivy Grullon, anyone?
As the Red Sox crater, the Celtics appear poised to make it to the conference finals, and on deck, the Patriots, stripped of their franchise quarterback, nonetheless appear, at minimum, compelling.
So why would anyone bother to watch the Red Sox? Why would anyone devote three and a half hours -- at minimum -- to this nightly exercise in futility?
Now, there's finally an answer.
I've seen the Red Sox' future and its name is Bobby Dalbec.
OK, that's a stretch. It's ridiculously premature and it's an unfair burden to place on Dalbec. At this point, some composite of Sidd Finch, Roy Hobbs and the second coming off Babe Ruth couldn't make the Red Sox appointment viewing.
But with two and a half weeks to go, there's at least a reason to steal a peek. While you channel surf through the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the NBA playoffs and the start of the NFL, Dalbec is more than worth an occasional live look-in.
He was easily the most interesting thing about their doubleheader in Philadelphia on Tuesday. He hit a homer in the first game, crushing a hanging curveball to left field. And in the nightcvap, in a 2-2 game, he seemed to do little more than flick his wrist to send the ball 408 feet to right.