When the leaves come falling down
Van Morrison's Back on Top is a good fall album. I am listening to it as I write this, feeling that refreshing chill which awakens me from allergy trouble, and thus, turns me into a new man of sorts.
The depression from the Indians season has subsided, somewhat. A Browns win and a promising start to the start of the NBA preseason have awakened the the optimistic fool that lies within the confines of this soul.
Of course, the Yankees being eliminated from postseason also helps. God bless New York and its wonderful people. But I hate the Yankees and their 200 million dollar payroll. Good riddance.
Which, of course, brings us to the league championship series.
As the national media takes a collective gasp at the demise of their two favorite teams, the rest of us can expect two tight contests between four deserving squads.
I expect St. Louis to win it all of course. They looked downright unbeatable against the Padres. Of course, it was the Padres.
I had wanted to write about the 18-inning game between the Braves and the Astros, which I thought was the best baseball game I had seen in about a decade. Of course, it didn't happen in Boston or New York, so good luck in it being remembered.
Houston, with it's starting staff, will likely take Houston to seven games. In the American League, I like the Angels because Chicago seems to be missing something. I know we were joking about Ozzie Guillen being a choke artist, but he appeared to be taking it rather literally in Cleveland.
(It's times like these I wish I had the patience for pictures. If I did, I'd post Guillen making an ass of himself at Jacobs Field last week. Maybe Sussman will post the picture at some point.)
So, Angels in six, Cards in seven.