I didn’t really live blog and didn’t even really keep too accurate a running diary. I mostly drank wine (like, a lot of wine) and cracked wise, occasionally remembering to write down my observations. And here they are:
Karros: So, does the best player in the game get butterflies?
Pujols: I don’t think I’m the best player in the game.
Karros: Albert, we are men of action. Lies do not become us.
OK, that’s not really what Karros said, but he should have.
AL wins again, which is fairly depressing for an NL Fan like me. Still, when you see Mariano Rivera closing it out, you have to appreciate how the currents of history are flowing these days. In 50 years, people are going to think about the mid-90s to the late oughts as a time when giants named Rivera and Jeter roamed the Earth, and games like this one are going to form the chronicle. To have interlopers like Francisco Cordero and Brad Hawpe screw with that narrative simply won’t do, and we as NL fans have to accept that.
All in all a good game. Brisk. No silliness about everyone getting in the game. It felt like real baseball and looked like real baseball. I don’t have any complaints. Good show Messers Manuel and Maddon. Crawford wins the MVP. He’s as good a choice as any.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pass out somewhere.