Rain Rain, Go Away

So far the Cardinals lead the World Series 2 games to 1.

Highlights:

• Anthony Reyes pitched his ass off in game 1. If the Cards win the WS, we can look to game 1's victory on the road as a big reason why.
• Kenny Rogers played with a foreign substance on his hand in game 2. Doctors will look back at that moment as the earliest indication he doesn't wash his hands after using the restroom.
• Carpenter pitched his ass off in game 3. Three hits, no runs, 8 innings and 82 pitches. Sweet.
• Rain resulted in the first World Series game postponement in 10 years.
• NY media is still whining about the Cardinals backing into the playoffs. Hey, Beltran is still thawing after that freeze. Give us credit, haters. Better yet, shut up.

The Cardinals Win the Pennant!

The night the Cardinals won the pennant, my brother Ibrahim, my sister Banan and I went into some psycho fan mode that most diehard fans get in their lifetime during pennants and game sevens.

We tried to pretend that it wouldn't be such a letdown if we lost because people expected us, the underdogs, to lose. At least we had given the Mets a tough fought seven games. But of course our true feelings emerged as the game progressed.

During the latter innings I looked to my left to find a Washington University graduate with a Psychology degree covering her face with uncertain hands, reciting every chapter of the Quran she could think of. When I looked to my right, a usually calm athlete had an uncharacteristically flushed face, spontaneously yelling "Oh no! That's it! They're going to score! We lost! That's it!" more to himself than to anyone else in the room, before screaming in the utmost joy when the opposing team failed to score. (This being the neurotic Woody Allen impersonator I referred to in the previous post)

Game seven was as close to a panic attack that three people in the same room could possibly get. For that matter, it was as close to a city-wide panic attack as it could possibly get. First there was the Endy Chavez theivery that had Cardinal fans, and most viewers, thinking would prove to be the turning point in a game won by the Mets.

The next inning I seized the moment to yell, "momentum shifter! momentum shifter!" as soon as the Mets failed to score on a bases loaded jam Suppan was in, thanks in large part to a throwing error by the usually stellar defensive third baseman Scott Rolen.

Still, none of us were sure. We thought we felt sure when Yadier Molina hit the 2-run homer in the top of the 9th, breaking a 1-1 tie as fragile as a newborn.

We jumped for joy, not believing the good fortune of being 3 outs aways from advancing to the world series. If anyone from the outside were to look in, they would have seen 3 grown siblings huddled and jumping in circles like overgrown children. "I know I don't always show it, but I love you guys..." Banan's faint voice revealed in a state of raw emotion even as Ibrahim and I continued to scream.

But then the bottom of the 9th happened. The kind of inning that ages anyone watching, that gives 20-somethings gray hairs. The kind of inning that people walk away from trying to make some sense of as soon as it's done, or try to grasp even as the realization of what we just witnessed starts to settle in. As soon as the shock subsided,relief settled in. As soon as we were done squeaking and hoo-hawing in glee, we slumped back in similar fashion to all other game 7 finishes.

Adam Wainwright escaped with bases loaded and "Cardinal killer" Carlos Beltran looking at a curve ball that will live on in post season folk lore. They'll say, "remember that curve ball that froze one of the best post season hitters in recent memory?" That curve ball froze everyone in their seats at home, evoking moans from the Mets crowd and awe from the Cardinal crowd.

One day my grandchildren will ask me about one of the best games I ever saw. I'll tell them about game 7 of the 2006 NLCS. I'll tell them their uncle bit his tongue drawing blood out of excitement as he watched Molina's home run sail away, right over the head of a man who made one of the greatest post season defensive gems of all time earlier, robbing the greatest defensive 3rd baseman, known for ritually robbing hitters of hits, of a 2-run homer. I'll say we hugged and loved eachother as much as we loved the Cardinals in that moment. I'll tell them a Cardinal killer recieved a lethal injection from a kid and his uncle Charlie.

Maybe I'll show them the blood stained shirt if they don't believe me. And if they're lucky enough, I'll be able to tell them that game paved the way to our first World Series victory in 24 years and the first of many in my lifetime.

Crazy, Crazy Week

Insanity is hijacking the sports world! Or am I just realizing insanity is an indelible part of sports!? This is not good for someone fasting. I already think of food all the time, I don't need to daydream about pepto bismal too. (sidenote* watching Rams/Cardinals games during Ramadan may cause: nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea [do the dance if it makes you feel better])

Here are the games to blame for my chronic urge to consume pepto-bismal ...

1. Cardinals v. Mets: Game 7-NLCS. (*I faint at the recollection of last night, we'll get to that in a little bit.)
2. Rams v. Seahawks: Tori makes catch of the year and Seahawks win with a so-so field goal kicker, after an illegal formation call by umpires gives us a moment of glory, we realize the 10 second run-off rule does not apply. nausea.
3. Bears v. Cardinals-Monday Night Football: Are you KIDDING ME? The Arizona Cardinals lost that game? That was painful to watch, even as someone with no real vested interest in that game. Someone summon Dr. Burke, that team choked!
4. Cardinals v. Mets: Every game. Every single damn game. I was at the blow out game on Sunday which we lost. As much as it sucks losing, we cheered and made so much noise that we eventually got the stiffs in our section to do the same.

highlights:-

• singing "living on a prayer" at the top of our lungs with the sound system, inspiring two other people in front of us to do the same, including "rich, snobby lady" (that's her real name)
• dancing with Banan to swing music
• yelling "let's go sand-frogs!!" over and over to Scott Speizio towards end of the game, and "It's cool, you can ignore us... you're busy right now. There's a game going on! We understand!! After the game then? (No response) No? ok then, it's cool" which draws laughs out of our once robotic section. It's always nice when people stop acting like robots.
• testing the bleacher-usher/nazi's vision and attention. Standing on our bleacher seats when she was busy flirting with other usher and jumping down when we thought she'd turn around and see us like 2nd graders in detention.
• singing and dancing to all the songs, really.
• pretending we thought we'd mount the biggest come-back in post season history
• seeing a police officer accidentally break off a handicap sign with his hands outside of Busch. Sheer strength, I tell you. Don't mess with cops.

There's an empowering feeling in blowouts regardless of which side of the scoreboard your team is on. Dancing is usually a consequence.

Now, on to game 7 of the 2006 NLCS. I honestly did not know what to expect. I won't sit here pretending that I assumed we would win, because anyone who does is lying or delusional. The night of October 19th, 2006, was such a gut wrenchingly, nerve wracking one that I cannot even bring myself to describe the events that transpired before our very eyes. In my next blog, I will summon up the energy to describe what we went through. Here's a preview...

• someone bites their tongue and draws lots of blood out of sheer excitement.There'll be pictures.
• Three Ead siblings huddle and bounce in circles as a Yadier Molina homerun sails over the guy who just made one of THE best defensive catches to rob a HR in post season history a few innnings earlier.
• The tongue biter also has the most disturbing display of neurotic behavior since Woody Allen. Almost tourette-like.
• A Red Sox fan is bashed. (just for kicks)
• Did I mention there'll be pictures?

Stay tuned. You won't want to miss it. (Unless you're a Mets fan. You'll, ahem, probably want to, uh, miss this next blog.)

Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated

Screw "You gotta Believe!".

The Cardinals' mantra for the post-season should be "Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

Never mind that Mark Twain probably/actually said "The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated". It's all the same. "Demise", "death", "termination", "failure", "suckiness"...Pick one. You used it. It all added up to "loss", either way.

Suddenly, 83 wins, two 8 game losing streaks and one 7 game losing streak seem part of the master plan. What do the baseball experts always say? Just get into the post-season and anything can happen. The Cardinals are on the verge of "anything can happen" and playing the Mets in the NLCS. And it's nice not caring what the experts are saying. Being an underdog gives us that advantage.

What is this sensation Cardinal nation is feeling? Hope? Happiness? We don't know what to do with ourselves except cheer. We know it could all end in 4 games. But we've also had the realization that it doesn't have to end, regardless of what everyone around us is saying. Regardless of what we remind ourselves in uninspired reality checks.

As you've probably realized, Mark Twain is famous for many-a-quote. It was Twain who said "All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure." The Cardinals are obliged to take that information in heavy doses as it proves true, elongating whatever life they have left. Everyone expects them to lose as they play the role of underdog with a poetic enthusiam worthy enough to make Shakespeare cry.

I'd like to see how far the Cardinals' ignorance and confidence can take them. I'd also like to try out a new name on them.

I like the sound of "winners". It has a nice ring to it.

Avoiding a Disaster isn't as Fun as it Sounds

I pride myself on being a Cardinals fan, in case you haven't noticed. There are some things in life that I'm never ashamed to admit. I have no qualms about telling anyone I'm Palestinian. I leave no apologies for being a Muslim. And of course, I relish in every opportunity to claim my undying love for my Cardinals. Whenever I go to Chicago, for example, I always consider taking some item of Cardinals clothing to wear or a hat to showcase in the car just because there's that small window of opportunity to piss a Cubs fan off.

Still, there's a certain amount of shattered pride and utter embarassment that goes along with witnessing night after night of suffocating losses. In what every sportswriter seemed to twistedly enjoy describing in their little articles as a "total meltdown" or "historic collapse", I didn't have the guts to write about my Cardinals in the last 2 weeks because I feared the worst. I'll admit, I don't take embarassment well. I didn't want to say something I would regret. On the other hand, ever the optimist even in their most dire moments, I refused to throw the towel in. I was more afraid of admitting we were choking than anything else. Well, almost as afraid of actually choking, anyway.

But something happened that most of those twisted writers didn't expect. We didn't collapse (completely). With the help of two strong pitching performances from Weaver (who would've thought?) and rookie Anthony Reyes, timely hitting from the great Albert Pujols and Scott Speizio, and an Atlanta Braves team intent on punishing the Astros for last year's painful 20+ inning game and ultimately series loss, the Cardinals managed to avoid becoming a coined phrase.

"Whoa, they're choking. Think they'll pull a Cardinals'?"

Don't get me wrong, I'm not ignoring the fact that our division was the weakest or that the Cardinals' measly 83 wins are the least amount for a division winner needed to get into the post-season. I don't pretend to think that our first round opponent, the padres, didn't beat the Cardinals in the regular season 4 games to 2. I'm aware of the fact there's a chance the Cardinals may be embarassed on national television.

That said, there's a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing the White Sox, who totally dismantled the Cardinals in June, aren't in the post season and the measly Cardinals are. Or that EPSN.com's Page 2 writer Eric Neel who listed a number of reasons he wanted to see the Cardinals collapse, won't get his wish fulfilled (I also don't pretend to understand why that damn Red Sox fan hates us so much. His team whooped us, what more does he want?).

It's the post-season, not everyone makes it to the play-offs. Only 8 teams and 8 cities get to enjoy the moment and pretend they have a chance, large or miniscule, at winning it all. As much as this season has represented one huge rollercoaster of emotions, with its high highs and very low lows, nearly getting to the point of that rollercoaster running off its tracks, a new season begins. If there's anything I've learned in watching sports, it's that October produces miracles.

Unlike the previous two post-seasons, I don't carry high hopes for my Cardinals. I feel like a mom watching her 5 year old son about to play in a game filled with 10 year olds. I find my team in unfamiliar territory as the underdogs. But that's ok, everyone loves an underdog. (Assuming Eric Neel isn't in this picture)

If we lose, we lose. But if we win, perhaps this ride (near freak accident included) was worth it all.