bellyitcher

I kept saying things like "house money" and "everything else is gravy." And I believed those things. I had almost convinced myself that the games really didn't matter. So after Wilson struck out for the third effing time I surprised myself with the strength of my hatred. During the 9th I was shaking. Pacing. Sitting on the top of the stairs with one ear listening to the radio down in the kitchen and the other listening to the delayed TV broadcast. I was a wreck. During that never-ending inning, I migrated to the foot of the stairs where I had to use a door jamb to support myself. As soon as I heard Mike's call, I ran, or rather floated, upstairs to hit record on the TiVo, screaming the whole way.

There's something different about this year. I think it's because it had been so long since the Cards had been to the Series in 2004 that just getting there was enough. And I'm not saying that the pennant isn't completely awesome. But everything is so topsy-turvy this year. Wainwright doing his very best Izzy impression now seems like a foregone conclusion. Molina (I adore him, but he's a terrible hitter) hitting a game-winning home run is totally expected.

The Tigers are a better team than the Cardinals. It's not even a question. I hoped rather than truly believed they'd get past the Padres. I didn't want to get too excited about possibly beating the Mets. And now that both those things have happened, well, as a wise man once said:

Youneverknow.