AFTER new Bosox hurler Mike Boddicker struck out Paul Molitor on a pitch that jitter-bugged its way across the plate and after Kevin Romine made a catch that could rival the Say Hey Kid's, I was hooked for the afternoon. By the eighth inning, I joined the Fenway faithful in a standing ovation for Boddicker. By the last out of the game, I was up on my feet.

Here was a good team playing great baseball. In fact, the Sox have lost only one game since the All-Star break and have won 20 straight games at Fenway.

There's Mike Greenwell, the closest thing in baseball to Mattingly. And Ellis Burks, who is predicted by many in baseball to be the next superstar. By the way, Wade Boggs is the fourth all-time hitter in baseball history.

Then there's Rocket Roger Clemens, the most dominant pitcher in baseball. Joe Morgan, what have you done to me?

They're booing me in the Bronx. Soon, the major New York newspapers will have my face sprawled on the back of their sports pages with the headline, "This Guy Must Be Sick!"

Yes, it is a sickness. No Yankee fan, no true Bronx Bomber, could root for the Red Sox. But I have.

I tell you, doc, I'm sick. There must be a cure.

I need to take an Eastern shuttle back to New York. I have to get back on a Lexington Avenue IRT headed downtown and get off at the 161st St. stop. I have to go back to the box seats behind first base, watch Mattingly turn over a double play and then watch him hit the upper deck in the bottom of the ninth.

But if I can't get back to the Stadium and have to read another two-sentence story on the Yankees-Tigers series, then I wouldn't mind staying sick.