ATLANTA — The sweep by the Braves accomplished, having lost 9 of their last 11 games, and having finished their final road trip of the season with five losses in six games, the Florida Marlins are heading home. And with only one more start left for the 2005 season, A.J. Burnett is going to be searching for a new home.

Home, where the air is redolent of money, plasma screen TVs, and rich Corinthian leather.

Home, where respected manager Jack McKeon will not be, where the Marlins coaching staff will not be, where a man can play for a team that isn’t deadset on mailing in the final month of the season.

Home, where a cocktail of Red Bull and Prozac isn’t needed to get through a year playing a game that children would love to play as adults, where millionaires are allowed to complain about adverse conditions in the wake of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

“I’ve got one more start here, and that’s all that matters,” Burnett said of his apparent plans for free agency.

Home, where Burnett can throw some new metal onto his iPod (Alter Bridge, from Florida, is a new metal supergroup), where he can drive to the local Hooters for some hot wings, where the area co-eds are of consenting age and still just as hot as the girls at Tallahassee and Miami.

Home, where a pitcher always expecting kudos can expect such kudos, where a man can live without constant and unending reprimands for the most minor transgressions, where a man can expect his teammates to score a run once in a while against the 2nd best team in the National League.

“We played scared. We managed scared. We coached scared. I’m sick of it, man,” said Burnett, now 12-12 after dropping his sixth straight decision, 5-3, to the first place Braves. “It’s depressing around here. A 3-0 ballgame, I give up one run and leave guys on base, it’s like they expect us to mess up. And when we do, they chew us out. There is no positive nothing around here for anybody.”

Home, where the only things colored teal and green are the grass and the mounds of dog doo on the grass. And the money. All of the money. All of that wonderful, wonderful money.

Home, where reaching the playoffs isn’t a pipedream just two years after winning a World Series, where your team leader isn’t a slap-hitting catcher renown across baseball for his second-half swoons, where your third baseman doesn’t forget how great a hitter he once was, where your speed-demon second baseman and speedier center fielder don’t turn into old men after the Opening Day pitch, where your best bullpen pitcher isn’t some myopic redneck playing over his head and the head of 500 other people (i.e. the people in the stands for Marlins home games that Dontrelle Willis isn’t starting).

Home, where your manager actually has your back, where your manager understands how hard it is to pitch to Major League hitters, where your manager doesn’t put the blame of a team defeat on the shoulders of one of the best pitchers in baseball (with a career record under .500).

“He’s as good as anybody to go out there and get them out with his stuff,” McKeon said of Burnett. “That’s the thing with this guy is he can throw a no-hitter any day with his stuff. But you can’t keep walking leadoff guys.” Burnett has 79 walks this season.

“I haven’t seen a positive pat on the back since April,” Burnett said. “Guys are out here busting their [butts]. The whole team is out here busting their [butts]. We ain’t trying to lose. We ain’t out there trying to strike out or give up runs. Guys are busting their [butts]. Yet you still hear negativity. Just negativity. I ain’t saying no names. Just too much negativity.”

Come next April, A.J. Burnett will be in a new uniform, cashing his paychecks in a new bank, settling into a new home. Home, where never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.

Gordon Edes is a writer for the Boston Globe.