I can't keep up with facts-- I've sunk into an inescapable bog of sorrow and confusion and I'm not coming out until next April.
Because didn't this year of milestone accomplishments and improbable comebacks necessitate a 28th World Series championship? Shouldn't the forces behind the Red Sox collapse have compelled the Yankees to victory, in a seesaw of karmic momentum?
Okay, it's not that they didn't win. Every year, every team minus one doesn't win. The not winning doesn't take away the 162 game days you got to spend with your team and the not winning doesn't prevent the cyclical reintroduction of your team into your life next spring. Maybe not exactly the same team as the year before, but close enough.
So, Jorge Posada probably isn't going to come back. He was never my favorite Yankee. It was admittedly very sad to watch him standing alone on the top step of the dugout, deprived of that final ninth-inning at-bat, staring off into the field as his silent teammates filed past him, but it'll be okay. He'll find another team and become a crotchety fixture on their bench. Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera will look even older and more out of place. Derek Jeter and Mariano will stand alone in the dugout after A-Rod's sixth and seventh consecutive season-ending strikeouts and wonder what they'll be doing next April. Those things will happen and still the close-enough Yankees won't end.
At least they didn't have it as bad as the Phillies, who had to watch Ryan Howard lie in the dirt as the Cardinals amassed on their infield, tearing off their jerseys and chanting "Happy Flight."
Baseball isn't over. I've been monitoring every game. I'm rooting for a Brewers-Tigers World Series. And after that happens, baseball will be over for a while, but not forever. Not for very long, even, when you think about it. Maybe I'll finish my "Derek Jeter in Trenton" essay and start my Cole Hamels video masterpiece in the meantime.