I'm glad I was able to make it back from tonight's staff development / cult recruitment in time to watch Japan edge out South Korea in a hard-fought contest. There's something magical about a stadium rocking with baseball fans--truly insane, be-costumed fanatics--in March.
I hope the World Baseball Classic can work out its kinks, which mostly involve coddling Major Leaguers, and eventually become the true World Series. (We can rename the World Series the Professional Championship of Mostly American Franchises With an Increasingly International Flavor.) Maybe someday, after the Mayan Calendar expires, we'll all live together in perfect post-apocalyptic harmony and settle our global differences on the diamond.
P.S. Oh, and why would you pitch to Ichiro with runners in scoring position in the top of the tenth? The guy's sworn mission is to triumph over the South Koreans. (It's why I picked Japan to beat the U.S. in the semifinal.)
P.P.S. The wife, looking up from her novel about 9:43 p.m. PST: "Oh, it's over, Japan wins." Except it's an hour early--and a clip from 2006. Good predicting, though.