I have never before hesitated to robustly celebrate a St. Louis Cardinal World Series victory. I pumped fists as we whipped the Yankees in '64, Red Sox in '67, Brewers in '82, and Tigers in '06. (I am named after the '46 Series winners' team captain, Terry Moore.) But not so today.
This morning I get to be one of thousands who can say My team won! The Cardinals miraculously pulled it out! Yet, while these two statements are true, my heart reserves much public celebration because of the classiness of the Texas Rangers as well as their ideal fans.
A foul ball here and a better play there and it would be the Rangers who would have/could have/maybe should have raised the trophy as early as Thursday night.
But....it all went my Cardinals' way.
By the seventh inning I could see it in the Rangers' eyes. Fear that their moment was passing only mounted. Ron Washington's visible concern tugged at my heart. Murphy's eyes? Young's look? Andrus' blank stare? All transferred the same message; We aren't going to win, are we?
I'm glad my guys won as I have much history and inner connection. However, two professional opponents took center stage and did themselves proud. For the first time, I would not have minded a tie.
I wish there would have been some way we could have won without beating the Rangers. To win this Series is bitter-sweet. I feel like we just beat up on our cousins.