Somebody grab an oven mitt, because the stove is scorching.

We all knew that the 2004 Boston Red Sox would be split up in December. There were too many free agents, too many breakout stars seeking bigger contracts, and too many starters nudged into backup roles. We've had forever to prepare for this and yet, it still stings.

There's no doubt that Theo did the right thing in letting Pedro walk after the Mets' Omar Minaya offered up four years, $56 million, and all of the mango trees in the Dominican. It's hard to complain about the addition of Renteria, even if that does mean that Cabrera is history.

Competitively, these moves are the kind I want my GM making. But emotionally, they are crushing. Gone are the days of Cabrera's elaborate handshakes. Gone are the days of Pedro and Manny's hair rubbing sessions. Gone are the days of the red foam bat, Elvis sunglasses, hip gyrations, jeri curls, goggles, and Nelson de la Rosa.

I remember waking up the morning after the 2003 ALCS Game 7. I felt like I had been left at the altar and run over by a truck. At the same time. That team felt like family, and I couldn't imagine ever finding a team I loved in the same way.

And then along came the 2004 Boston Red Sox, and something crazy happened. I loved them more. The summer of 2004 was like the greatest family reunion you've ever been to. Millions of people, united only by their love of the Red Sox, instantly bonded with this bunch of goofy, perverted, happy-go-lucky misfits. When Theo sent Nomar to Chicago and welcomes Roberts, Cabrera, and Mientkiewicz to Boston, the puzzle had been completed. Everything just fit. And we knew it. It was like we had finally found 25 long-lost members of our giant family, and we were trying to cram 85 years' worth of fun into 3 months.

The 2004 Boston Red Sox were what baseball was meant to be: fun. No rules, no suffering (well, maybe just a little bit), no order. Just chaos and drama and dirt and grit and beer and sunshine and fun.

With the hot stove season underway, those days are officially behind us. The Red Sox are still the World Champions, but we'll never see that group of guys together again. We'll never see Pedro hug Tek on the Fenway mound. We'll never cringe at the sight of the Derek Lowe face. We'll never celebrate over a Cabrera double off the Monster. We'll never applaud as Pokey leaps out of his shoes to steal a single.

A few months from now, there will be a new group of dirt dogs to fall in love with. Before we know it, Edgar Renteria will do something so spectacular that we'll look skyward and thank the baseball gods for sending him our way. David Wells will throw a third strike that will make all of us forget about his pinstriped past. And players we don't even know about yet will find a way into the pulsing heart of RSN.

Sure, we'll never watch that old group of 25 guys celebrate on the field at Yankee Stadium, or roll down the streets of Boston in a fury of rain, ticker tape, and tears.

But the fact that we got to see it at all...that's enough.