Much like the recently crowned 11-time World Champion St. Louis Cardinals, I just can’t lose folks. What’s that old Jerry Reed song? When You’re Hot, You’re Hot? That’s right. That song’s about me, and my mad game-prediction skills.
See, from the beginning, I’ve been calling this a Cardinals’ championship in 7. If you don’t believe me—and frankly, I’m a little insulted—go back and check yesterday’s piece. It’s all right there, laid out cleanly (and honestly). I even called how the shit would go down, you see? Allen Craig starting in leftfield? Yeah, I knew he’d get Berkman and The Bombers started early with a blast off of Texas starter Matt Harrison. That set the table for a persistent offensive attack that didn’t let up.
So, congratulations to Tony LaRussa and his Cardinals, and in fact, the whole goddamned city of St. Louis. Man, I love that place. The Arch. The Professional Bowling Hall of Fame. That runny fucking Provel cheese they insist on putting on all of their pizzas. What a fine little town.
Ok… you got me. I can’t go on living this charade.
Maybe I didn’t pick the Cardinals. Maybe I was completely wrong. I guess the pressure of picking at such a high rate of success just overcame me. It ain’t easy keeping up with the Glazers.
Furthermore, maybe I don’t like Provel cheese. In fact, I think it’s disgusting. To be quite honest, it tastes like a hobo jizzed all over my pie. It’s gross. And as long as we’re getting confessional, maybe I should say that I don’t like the city of St. Louis at all. As a born and bred Royals’ fan, the internal flame of hatred that burns for the Birds is too much to negotiate.
I went up in the big fucking Arch once. You know what? Not a big deal at all.
But I suppose as an impartial (ha!) sports writer, I should give credit where credit is due.
The Cardinals—who weren’t even supposed to be here—played one hell of a postseason and a really solid series. It seemed like every time you turned around, someone different was contributing (well, except Skip Schumaker—dude was completely useless).
Craig stole a Nelson Cruz homerun that could have been a huge momentum shifter. David Freese—who set the record for the most RBI in a postseason with 21 and took home MVP honors—made a difficult catch near the 3rd base dugout that would have been totally dropped in Game 6. Ace Chris Carpenter struggled early but became virtually untouchable for the remainder of his 6 innings.
That’s not to say that the Rangers didn’t beat themselves mercilessly, like a teenage kid left alone for the evening with a pilfered Juggs magazine.
Texas relief pitcher Scott Feldman—who will be playing Abe Lincoln in a one-act play I’m writing—came in and pitched the 5th like… well… I suppose like Abe Lincoln would have pitched it: highly ineffectively. He walked Craig. He skimmed Albert Pujols’ jersey with an inside pitch. He intentionally walked Mr. Freese. He walked Yadier Molina. Ok, wait—are you keeping track here? Walk, hit batter, walk, walk. That equals a run, folks!
(Fun fact: the last person to be walked with the bases loaded in a Game 7? KC’s Jim Sundberg in the ’85 World Series. Go Royals!)
So then Texas manager Ron Washington—who really did himself no favors at ALL this game—brought in starter CJ Wilson… who proceeded to plunk Rafael Furcal in the ass on a first pitch with a throw so ridiculous, it looked like Furcal owed him money. Another run scored, and frankly, that was all that St. Louis needed.
They held the lead, they got the win, and now I have to listen to all of the gloating from Cardinals’ fans.
But that’s fine, seriously. They really do deserve it. Getting the chance under the most improbable of circumstances, they capitalized in outstanding fashion And I’m sure they’ve got a tremendously bright future—you know, with Carpenter, who turns 37 next April, and Lance Berkman, who turns 36 next February, and Matt Holliday, who is apparently broken emotionally and physically, and Pujols who is… wait… where’s he going?
Hey Pujols! Dude? Where are you going? Come back here!…