This One Has a Short Title: Blissful Ignorance.

You know what’s a completely surreal feeling?  Sitting in a dark concert, having fasted from internet or radio for going-on-four hours so as not to know the World Series outcome, watching a performer who I am still somewhat convinced is a demi-god.  And yet knowing that someone is already the World Champion.  That it’s been decided.  That the series is over.  It was a lot more of an interesting psychological experiment than I meant it to be.  I was actually just caught in an epic overbooking of myself.

Allow me to explain!

I bought those concert tickets long before Game 7 was on the radar screen and travelled to Los Angeles for it.  For a second (okay, more than a second) I considered playing hookey but I ended up going and yeah, the singer, Philippe Jaroussky, was all demi-god-ish and brilliant and sang three encores and I swooned and got his autograph (it’s perfectness is slightly decreased by the fact that it says, “To Emily” not “To Diamond Girl”, but he was French and I didn’t want him thinking Americans normally have names like Diamond Girl, so…) and was more than, much more than, glad that I went.

So I then plugged my ears, did not turn on my iPod or talk to anyone, spent two hours in LA traffic (I am gritting my teeth together at the thought) and then, around midnight, turned on my television and speed watched the game, through the seventh inning.  At which point, by some strange luck, the DVR informed me that the recording had ended, because it conflicted with a taping of Grey’s Anatomy Desperate Housewives of Kansas.  Or something.  So after swirling my ice water around in my glass and screaming at the screen for a minute, I took a deep breath and checked my trusty At Bat App.

And my blissful ignorance went up in a cloud of Southern California smog.

I stared for a good long moment.  And then for a few more good long moments.  I tried to muster some congratulatory feelings towards St. Louis, but they didn’t really flow easily.  Even more so when I saw David Freese getting his hip little sports car.  I am going to need a little while to get over this one.

But yeah, congratulations to the Cardinals.  Because really, they had an amazing, bizarre year and Showtime now has a darn perfect team to follow next year.  And Texas put up a heck of a fight.  It was a dramatic, basically well-played series overall and both teams are really, truly great.

And now the season is over.  That’s the part I can’t get over.  I keep expecting there to just be another game, another anything, but there isn’t.  Free agency kicks in pretty soon, the Hot Stove is heating up and we have a million and one Giants and Rangers topics to break down and beard choices to dissect.

So this is where I say thank you all for following this year and all that jazz and wonderfulness.   Let’s comfort each other at this difficult time.  I, for my part, promise frequent offseason posts, in between Philippe videos, and photos of my blue Coraline hair on Halloween.  Because I know you totally want to see it.

Xs and Os, my friends.  Xs and Os.  We can survive these months together.  Listen to Aubrey Huff sing, for starters.

Diamond Girl

p.s.  Tip of the day: all you need to get into a snazzy, members-only lounge with brazed lamb chops and a bunch of desserts and the best coffee in the greater Los Angeles area and candlelit tables without paying is an adorable little brother.  I mean, it worked for me.  And it was awesome.  That is what I will be meditating on in the cold winter days to come.

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