"So, How Was Your Saturday Night, Ron Santo?"

It's been a long time since I attended an October baseball clincher in person. Actually, the last time was Game 7 of the 1986 World Series in the now-being-dismantled-brick-by-metal-post Shea Stadium. If you're a baseball fan and your team is involved on the upside, there is a truly unique and special feeling when the final out is recorded.

That was last Saturday night at Dodger Stadium as the Los Angeles Blue swept out the eternally doomed Chicago Cubs.

Nobody in Dodgerland expected this to happen. The Cubs had won 97 games during the regular season and, after years of torment from curses brought on by billy goats, Steve Bartmans, and perhaps even the Republican party, 2008 was destined to be their year. They even went to the trouble of bringing in a Greek Orthodox priest to spray holy water all over the Cubs dugout to exorcise whatever demons that have lived there for the past 100 years. I saw the clip of this and was astounded at its utter ridiculousness. What would be next? Kerry Wood lying across the pitching mound while Father Damien intones, "The power of Christ compels you, the power of Christ compels you." Come on, folks. If you understand the Bible, God roots for no one baseball team. Except for maybe the time when polish from Cleon Jones' shoe wound up on a baseball in Game 5 of the 1969 World Series.

But, this is the Chicago Cub fan who needs to justify somehow his misery and negativity. There must be some mystical reason why the team has been relegated to also-ran status every single October since William Howard Taft was President. How about the team sucked for much of that time? How about that, in 1969, their bullpen was so bad down the stretch that it was probably anchored by Aaron Heilman Sr.? Maybe, while you blame some overzealous fan reach for a fair ball in 2003, your manager that year had completely butchered his pitching staff by the time October came around. For this Met fan who remembers 1969 very well, I think this is the continuing payback for then Cubs third base man and current announcing dirtbag Ron Santo's gleeful heel clicking after every Cub victory. It was bush league and Santo has Cub fans paying the price to this day. Of course, Santo no longer can click his heels because he no longer has heels to click.

For 24 of the 27 innings in the Division Series, the Los Angeles Dodgers clearly outplayed the alleged best team in the National League. And it was the greatest night in Dodger Stadium since Kirk Gibson broke a few tail lights in 1988. The crowd was electric and the chanting started way before the seats were warm. There were small pockets of Cub fans all about and they skulked around like they were in the Paris underground during World War II. Once exposed, they were duly noted and booed. One Cub fan, dressed in his LL Bean finest, walked by and called those assembled in my section "the most classless baseball fans in America." Huh? Having spent many a summer in Wrigley Field with close proximity to the famed Bleacher Bums, I can tell you that fandom is a far cry from the Vienna Boys Choir singing the Pachebel Canon in D. If Dodger fans were truly that classless, how come this shithead's girlfriend spent one whole half inning trying to balance a cup of beer on her head. If ever there was a moment for a beach ball to find its way toward her noggin...

Several rows behind, some blonde bimbette dressed in Chicago blue was drunk and shaking her business for all to see. Her boyfriend wondered why she was getting so much negative attention. Come on, if a stripper breaks into the Vatican to do a lap dance for the Pope, you can expect to see Security show up.

Given that this is LA, you can count on the A Listers and C Listers to show up at any important sporting event. I saw Pierce Brosnan up on the club level and wondered if he even knew where the hell he was. Vince Vaughn was shown on Diamond Vision wearing his Cubs hat and was roundly booed. Indeed, he should garner the same reaction every time he gets a movie role. And, with Joe Torre in the Dodger dugout, Billy Crystal couldn't be far behind. This asshole wound up in the owner's box jawing with Tom Lasorda who probably wished that the game had coincided with Yom Kippur. Crystal has had a man crush on Torre for years and secretly envisions going to Ikea with him to pick out a futon for their spare bedroom. I wished that Homeland Security had taken up a position at Dodger Stadium turnstiles to profile and arrest Yankee fans.

Playoff baseball is always a tense affair and the closeness of Saturday's game provided just the right mix of fun and cardiac infarctions. When Jonathan Broxton got the Cubs' own version of Alex Rodriguez-like October futility, Alfonso Soriano, to check swing his way into winter sports, the crowd was raised to the heavens. Celebrations took place on the field and champagne was sprayed all over the field level. Now they smelled as drunk as they really were. Joe Torre spoke to the throng and asked for more support to get them another eight wins. A bunch of fans started to chant that he run for President and I can't think of a better alternative right now.

The feeling took me back to another time and another place. It made the end of the Mets and our former home stadium a duller memory. It reminded me that, if you can't go home again, you do have an alternative. You simply move.

Dinner last night: Chicken and tortellini in pesto sauce.