
NEW YORK -- The lords of baseball don't realize it, probably because they're old and stubborn and semi-senile. But their showcase event, the World Series, never has seemed more irrelevant in American life. I say it even as the
New York Yankees, a world-famous brand name with gaudy stars and Hollywood girlfriends, return for the first time in six years to play the defending champion
Philadelphia Phillies in what should be a compelling matchup of monstrous talent and East Coast psychosis.
The problem? Look at the calendar, stupid. The Series is starting later than ever, on Oct. 28, and potentially could finish with a Game 7 in what very possibly would be a frigid, blustery Yankee Stadium on November the friggin' fi-fi-fi-fifth. That means the Boys of Summer are perilously close to becoming the Icecubes of Winter, which is not the smart way to determine a champion in a game of intellectual nuance and patient, incremental drama. Though so many of these postseason contests have been cool to watch, I've also found myself thinking at times, "Can we please finish all this?" instead of sitting back and enjoying the action.