How wrong was I? I was as wrong as a bald guy with a ponytail, as wrong as a plus-size woman in a sun dress, as wrong as Larry Lucchino in a cowboy hat and earrings. I was as wrong as Adam Sandler as Paul Crewe, as wrong as John Goodman as Babe Ruth, as wrong as Al Sharpton as host of a cable news program. I was as wrong as ketchup on a hot dog, strawberries on a salad or an orange slice in a beer. I was as wrong as a speed trap at the bottom of a hill. How wrong was I? I thought Josh Hamilton would have been a good idea. I thought Ben Cherington had done a nice job of ridding the Red Sox of rotten apples, including pulling the trigger on the greatest trade in franchise history when he swindled the Dodgers 11 months ago, but I thought he had taken the extreme makeover a little too far. I thought the Red Sox were going to win 78 games and finish fourth this season. I said on February 5 that the Sox would a field a team of quality individuals who would set a club record for visits to the Jimmy Fund Clinic. Right here in this space, I wrote of the new Sox: They will work hard, play hard, and stick together. They will share cabs, dine out in groups of 12 and leave huge tips. They won’t complain about Sunday night games because they won’t complain about anything. The crammed clubhouse, the cold weather, the 11 a.m. start on Patriots Day? It’s all good with this lovable band of journeymen and platoon players. These are the new Red Sox, prima donna free and grateful for every day they spend in the big leagues.