Relax.

As a lifelong sufferer of whatever mental malady compels a child of any age to be a Boston Red Sox fan, that’s my advice to you today, the final Sunday morning in June.

Three months of the most excessive season in professional sports have expired. For every game the best team in the big leagues has lost, it has atoned by winning two.

Pretty nice body of work, there. It translates to 106 or 107 victories by the final day of September and an odds-on favorite to win it all in October for the second time in four years.

Not bad for a franchise that thrives despite our collective, never-ending fear of hearing the other shoe stomp through the ceiling.

Somebody explain that to me, please. Why are we so damn sensitive?

I was nave enough to think that 2004, if it didn’t immediately hasten the Battle of Armageddon, would cure every ill that gripped our dysfunctional family. We’d stop chanting, “Yankees Suck” at Patriots games, for instance. We’d quit spewing punctuation-challenged vitriol on Internet discussion boards when someone humbly veered from the company line and dared question a front-office move.

Silly me.

Being loosed from that 86-year prison term hasn’t changed a blessed thing. Our skin is still thinner than one-ply toilet paper.

Thank goodness, I’m an exception. Last week, I merely proposed that the Sox shouldn’t go anywhere near a dilapidated Curt Schilling when this season is over. The first anonymous wag to get hold of this suggestion delivered an electronic retort proclaiming me the “most ignorant writer ever.”

Dude, you’ll have to do better than that. My family and friends have come up with better slams than that in their sleep for more than 30 years.

Of course, my misdeeds are trifling compared to our resident Third Wheel, whose Left Coast opinions, however misguided, are precisely that. Suggesting that a good team might not want to stand pat and should try to get better is hardly salacious stuff.

The same clowns who laughed off his trade proposals probably soiled their pants when the Sox unloaded precious Nomaaaah in July 2004 and wound up with Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mientkiewicz.

That turned out OK. I watched the DVD the other night. Weird how they win every time.

Too many Sox fans are like the wife who curses her mom and her sisters up one side and down the other when they’re not around, but then slaps her husband silly when he dares call his in-laws a freak show.

Calm down and enjoy the ride. It’s only a game, and the Sox are the dominant team in it right now. Chill.