There is truly no escape

The prospect of the Cardinals advancing to the World Series has raised a very frightening thought, which to this point, I had not yet realized.

I’d already braced myself for the managerial dicksuckfest that LaRussa vs. Leyland would surely be. I’m already set to laugh off the feeble attempts of know-it-alls to extract some underlying explanation for an 83-win team in the World Series. I’m even fairly okay with hearing the moral escapades of Saints Pudge and Eckstein on a nightly basis.

But I’d completely overlooked the most dreadful, awful, horrible angle of all angles: the “Classic Matchup of Great Franchises” angle. I can already hear Timmy Mac and Joey Joe Mo-Mo comparing Justin Verlander to Denny McLain or Scott Rolen to Mike Shannon or making any other similarly terrible comparison made valid by nothing other than hat colors and geography. The implications are even more grave when one remembers that McCarver himself played in the ’68 World Series.


All right guys—here and now, we make a pact. Thirty years from now, should the Braves and Yankees meet in La Serie del Mundo, as it will exclusively be called by then, we will NOT, under any circumstances, refer to it as a “Classic World Series Matchup,” nor shall we ever pretend that its participants have anything at all to do with Tom Glavine, Derek Jeter, or Jim Leyritz.

May we never forget that sports are best played, enjoyed, and understood by the young, except for those rare individuals who can maintain a true a connection to youth in older age. But if, in thirty years, you will be the type of individual fixed to impose your narrow, curmudgeoned worldview onto sports, you can get right-the-fuck outta town, right now.

(Go Mets.)