Cardinal Sins

A riveting World Series, no doubt. So why does it seem like such an anti-climax?

The postseason certainly didn't determine the best team in baseball: the Cards were outplayed over 162 games by three other teams in the National League alone, and by another five (you could argue six or seven in the superior AL) on the other side of the standings. What they won was the playoff lottery, where eight good teams start almost completely from scratch (the best teams do get a minuscule home field edge, until the championship) playing a tournament that rewards them for different strengths than the regular season through which they qualified.

The unintended consequence of this expanded playoff system is a serious dilution of the once-sacrosanct 162-game schedule. With two excellent months out of seven, St. Louis qualified for the tournament and then survived it. Conversely, six months of dominance in New York, Philadelphia, Milwaukee and Dallas disappeared in puffs of playoff series smoke.

Given the current structure of baseball finances combined with the current playoff format, the World Series offers us three options, two of them unsatisfying:

1. Teams with considerable financial advantages buy the best players and march to the dogpile. Blecch.

2. Uninspiring outfits that stand atop the lowest division pile, or squeak in as Wild Card after-thoughts, put it together for three weeks and wear the crown. Blecch.

3. Franchises struggling with conflicting financial priorities like everyone else produce deserving squads that rise to the top and claim the championship. Yay.

For the second time in five years, Tony LaRussa's group planted its flag in option two and left an empty feeling in the rest of us. Only twice in those five years (Phils and Giants) has MLB finished its long half-year ride with a champion that could claim a)superiority and b)accomplishment unstained by a playing field tilting in its favor.

That's not to say we didn't learn some things in this series. We learned that Ron Washington, is a wonderful guy and excellent motivator who enjoys the respect of his players. We also learned that the in-game decision-making required in a World Series are beyond his capability, at least as currently constituted. Wash left a series of gaffes on the field that could have cost his team. He played his MVP at 50% effectiveness (.241/.258/.414 with limited mobility on the bases and in the field), which simply wasn't sufficient. He batted his best hitter seventh (Mike Napoli, .375/.500/.813), costing him at-bats during the series. He generally failed to take advantage of Lance Berkman's extreme platoon splits (1.010 OPS vs. righties; .744 vs. lefties), and he underutilized super-reliever Mike Adams, who'd treated MLB hitters of both leagues like his playthings over the past two years prior to the World Series. 

Washington's mismanagement rose to the fore in Games Six and Seven (or maybe that's when I noticed them.) As I've already documented, the pivotal moment in Game Six passed him by without notice because it arrived in the fifth inning. The rest of that evening's heroics could have thus been avoided. He left Nelson Cruz in the field in the ninth and was rewarded with Cruz's imitation of a wounded stork on the dramatic Freese "triple" that tied the score. In Game 7 he left Matt Harrison in well after his ineffectiveness had been duly demonstrated, though it's not as if his relievers acquitted themselves any better. 

In all, defense and relief pitching -- the most unheralded parts of the game -- carried the Cardinals to victory. Hail to them, but woe is our game, particularly if they add yet more less-deserving teams to the playoff stew.

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