Excitement ran high last night, as we prepared to go to the World Series. Phillies were up, 3 to 1. The forecast was for rain, but no matter – what’s a bit of moisture?

Malcolm and I were in the magic section in center field where home runs have been landing. He brought his glove, just in case. The guy in the Rollins shirt is the one who got the homer hit by pitcher Joe Blanton on Sunday. And a guy behind us got the Carlos Ruiz ball in the game before that.

The Phils were up, 2-0, but then it started to rain. Relentlessly. The Rays got a run, and then another. Tied at 2. Everyone was soaked. The pitchers were struggling. The fielders couldn’t see the ball for the raindrops. Home plate kept getting swamped in mud. Groundskeepers ran out to pour sand on the basepaths every half inning. Hundreds of bags were poured, to no avail.

Finally we made our way, with the rest of the drowned rats, to the concourse to wait it out. Malcolm had two slices of pizza and observed that cops should carry nightsticks shaped like mini baseball bats when on Phillies duty. We noticed people carrying sleeping toddlers and agreed that bringing pre-schoolers to the World Series is a terrible waste.

Ultimately, an announcement boomed over the PA system. Commissioner Selig said everyone should go home and come back as soon as the weather permits, possibly as soon as tonight, when the game will pick up where it left off.

The game was weird, wild and wet, and it’s not over yet. Go Phillies!

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