Epilogue

Alas the impossible dream twas' not to be. From my room on the 6th floor of the Millenium hotel in Minneapolis I watched the dream come to an end. My only gripe is against the fans along the 3B/LF railing who let Uribe dive in unmolested in the bottom of the ninth to catch a popup off the bat of Chris Burke. Where is Steve Bartman when you need him? And that is the real beef I have with the World Series. Could Houston's fans have been more dead? Was Al Gore in charge of rallying the troops on gameday? The fans who sacrificed life and lungs all season and postseason to push this little team that could further than anyone could have dreamed were left to watch from their living rooms (or hotel rooms in Minnesota) as scalpers, "ticket brokers" and the like charged thousands for standing room only tickets. In the end, it wasn't the open roof that did us in, it was the fact that half of the 40,000 fans were corporate stiffs or bimbo girlfriends of corporate stiffs who couldn't tell you the difference between double knit and a double play.

And that's what really hurts. Hat's off to Brandon Backe--that kid has got some serious stones. He clearly pitched the finest game of any starter on either team during the series hands down.

It was a fun ride and thanks to Mr. Pujols, the pain-this time- was not at all bad.