As everyone knows by now, Theo Epstein is gone. But who’s to blame? If you believe the Red Sox, it’s nobody’s fault. Fat chance. If you believe the know-it-alls on talk radio, it’s me, Dan Shaughnessy. As if.

I like to take a more prosaic stance. I blame Theo.

Here’s the thing about prodigal sons: sometimes, when all is said and done, they step out of line. Theo may have been the GM of the Red Sox, but at 31, he wasn’t the boss any more than Tony Danza was. Nobody thought any different, except Theo and his coterie of brainiacs.

So what was Theo thinking, then, when he engineered a botched trade that would have sent Abe Alvarez, Kelly Shoppach, and Adam Stern to Colorado for Larry Bigbie and Ryan Shealy? Didn’t he know any better? That’s like me cutting a deal to trade two office vending machines for an Aeron chair.

Maybe it says something fundamental about youth that Theo thought he could get away with it. After all, at 28 he was given the checkbook. But like those 250,000 twentysomethings who invade our city every year and think they can drunkenly riot all over town, Theo didn’t know his place. And in the end, Theo forgot the golden rule: he who has the gold makes the rules.

So who can blame Larry Lucchino? Lucchino tried his best to trade perennial malcontent Manny Ramirez, his water bottle, his scowl, his lack of hustle, and the $60 million the Sox owed him. He even had a team dumb enough to take him. What happened? Theo said no. Theo was in charge. And Manny kept right on being Manny.

And in the end, it was left up to Lucchino to teach his protege a lesson. Nobody could have expected Theo’s arrogant reaction to a little outside advice. But maybe they should have. That’s the thing about youth. And if the Red Sox are going to become a dynasty any time soon, they’re going to have to do it without their boy wonder. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this whole new way of thinking about baseball was all a bunch of hot air.

Just a little under two years ago, Theo Epstein ate the most important Thanksgiving dinner in Red Sox history – and before dessert, Curt Schilling was a Red Sock. We all know the rest of the story.

As we speak, though, the relationship between Epstein and the Red Sox has grown colder than Shonda Schilling’s 2003 leftovers. Sour grapes? They aren’t the only things that have gone sour. The rolls are stale. The turkey’s dried out. The gravy’s got that weird skin on the top.

But hey, Theo? If you can’t take the heat, get out of the clubhouse.

Boston Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy is quickly writing a new epilogue to his upcoming “Curse of the Bambino 2006 Annual.”