Hate to say I told you so...
I don't often go back to read my old blogs. When I do, it's usually to double-check for punctuation and other literary miscues.
The exception: my recent take on the Cardinals/Brewers NCIS. I went back this morning to check it out to see if I was even close to predicting what was going to happen.
"Be careful what you wish for Brewers Nation," I wrote on October 8th, quoting the Voice of the Packers Wayne Larrivee who taught me over the years that it's not who you play but rather when you play them. The Cardinals, I wrote, were ungodly hot bordering on the unconscious, pointing out that the Brewers had split against them during the regular season while going 1-5 versus St. Louis during their final encounters.
"Something else", I wrote. " LaRussa won't let Milwaukee's big guns beat the Cards. "St. Louis pitchers won't give Ryan Braun and Prince Fielder much to work with. The Brewers will need more from the Bettancourts, Morgans, and Hairston Jr.'s of the world to move on. Rickie Weeks has to show up, too, starting with the basics, like putting down a good bunt. The Cardinals are masters of 'the little things.' They don't beat themselves. LaRussa doesn't allow it."
Is that the sound of me, patting myself on the back? No, but it doesn't hurt pointing out when the blind pig finds the occasional acorn.
St. Louis moves on, having finished Milwaukee off in six games--the last two a pair of forgettable clashes for Brewers fans as starting pitchers got tattooed while fielders forgot the basics. And the Cardinals, true to form, made nary a miscue. Flawless baseball and execution, combined with the puppetry of manager Tony LaRussa, made the Redbirds an immovable force against Milwaukee's very movable object.
And so, the hot stove league begins. Will Prince stay? Who plays first if he goes? What about third and short?
Sorry, I just don't have the energy for all that right now.
Personally, I'm drained. Knowing that the station would send me on the road if/when the Brewers made the postseason, I put my October on hold. No functions. No obligations. Chores get done on rare off-days. I'll sleep when I'm dead.
There's now a mortgage re-fi to schedule, and some outdoor light fixtures that need tending to. The lawn needs a noogie, and there's a ton of other stuff to fix/wash/scrape/burn/store. I have a wife--I know, because I saw her sleeping there as I headed off to work this Monday morning--and I hear she's really cool. I'd like to get to know her again. Kids? Oh, yeah--those are the people who got to use most of my playoff tickets. Should probably double-back with them, too.
It's been a great run, and we all wish it could've lasted. We're free again to have a life without wondering if it's an afternoon game or an evening scrum we're planning for. Is it Fox, or TBS? What's with Craig Sager's sports coats/horse blankets? And, after seeing all the promos I still don't what time "The Big Bang Theory" airs.
A run at a pennant is far different that the quest for the Super Bowl. There's a week between games in the NFL, giving fans time to recharge, regroup, and over-analyze. Baseball is far different: there's a game almost every day which leaves no time to dwell on defeats or savor victories. Memories have to be short. Schedules are written in pencil.
And, when the baseball season ends, there's...nothing. Just a long, long honey-do list and the chance, in my case at least, to say "I told you so."