The Futility Infielder

No Love, New York

Nobody wants to hear the whining of Yankee fans this week. Goliath has fallen, and the rest of the baseball world couldn't be happier. The local papers have already dispensed with the post-mortems and moved on to filling out Uncle George's Christmas shopping list. I've decided to resist my temptation to remake the Yankees until after the World Series, because emotions are still running high all around, and more importantly, because we've still got a few weeks of good plot lines and (hopefully) great baseball ahead.

Each of the remaining four teams offers a compelling reason to root for it. And there's ample seating on their bandwagon:

• The Minnesota Twins, who staved off contraction over the winter. The Twins have a young, likeable team, a closer named "Everyday Eddie," and a self-described "futility infielder" as manager. The sight of Homer Hankies waving in the Hefty Bag is sure to stir memories of Hrbie and Kirby and Black Jack Morris. Plus, imagine the awkward looks Bud Selig and Carl Pohlad would have on their faces at the Series trophy presentation if they won. Check in with the Twins Geek or Aaron's Baseball Blog for wholesome Twinkie goodness.

• The Anaheim Angels, fresh off of schooling the Yanks and winning their first postseason series ever. The Angels feature strong starting pitching, gas-throwing relievers, a pesky Lil' Bastard in David Eckstein, and stellar defensive play, plus a coaching staff chock-full of those miracle 1988 L.A. Dodgers. They've also got a rather, um, unique primate for a mascot. I don't know of any Angel-specific blogs, but "Shredder" Seitz and other Anaheim fans can be found all over Baseball Primer's game-by-game blogs in Clutch Hits.

• The St. Louis Cardinals, who overcame the tragic death of pitcher Darryl Kile, not to mention the passing of iconic announcer Jack Buck, this season, but who now stand to bring a measure of joy to a great baseball town. They feature human highlight film Jim Edmonds in centerfield, one of the league's most devastating hitters in Albert Pujols, and the league's best shortstop, the clutch Edgar Renteria. Bleed Cardinal Red and Charlie at America's Pastime have you covered. Notice that Charlie's put a strike through my site upon the Yanks' elimination on his October 7 entry. Reminds me of the Homicide: Life on the Streets episode in 1997 where "Torre" and "Rivera" were listed as victims on The Board.

• The San Francisco Giants, featuring the best hitter on the planet as he's finally put his reputation for postseason misery behind him. The Giants are led by the highly regarded (and nearly departed?) Dusty Baker, who pulls rabbits out of his hat with this pitching staff of no-stars. They're owned by Peter Magowan, the only owner who DIDN'T bilk his taxpayers in building a new stadium. John Perricone of Only Baseball Matters will hook you up.

On the other hand, one can easily at least a solid reason to root against each of those teams. The Angels are owned by the Mouse, never anyone's favorite corporation. The Twins are owned by a rat willing to accept a payoff to have his own team whacked. The Giants are still the Giants, and Barry's not huggable no matter how many homers he hits. The Cardinals... well, that Tony LaRussa egghead thinks he's pretty smart, doesn't he?

I haven't figured out just which bandwagon I'll climb aboard for the next few weeks. Given that three of my four first-round predictions went down, fans of those remaining teams might hope that I don't jinx them with the pledging of my temporary allegiance. I'm leaning toward the Twins, followed by the Angels, with either of them over the Cardinals.

Still, I can't deny I've got a bit of an empty feeling right now. Unused LCS and World Series tickets protrude from under the front of my TV, taunting me as they tout a matchup I DON'T get to watch. But that's not the problem. It's that the crisp fall weather--jacket season--has arrived in New York City, and for the first time since 1997, there's no baseball buzz in the air to accompany it. No Yanks caps, no Mets jerseys, nobody reliving last night's ballgame on the subway or in the elevator, or stumbling into a random bar in a strange neighborhood to ask, "What's the score?" No us-against-the-rest-of-the-world cameraderie, no my-team-can-whup-your-team enmity. No swagger, no drama. No pull-out sections in the morning paper, no mystique and aura showing up after midnight. No electricity.

And for the rest of the baseball world, no clear villain. Mets fan Dan Lewis writes in his Sports Blog that he's sorry the Yankees lost: "I really enjoyed rooting against the Yanks last year, and that made game 7 all the more enjoyable. Now, there's no suspense." Lewis breaks down the anti-Yank sentiment for those still mourning the Bombed Bronxers: "[T]hose Yankee haters out there are sorry your team lost, not because we won't have the Yanks around to hate, but because we know that losing sucks. And for purely selfish reasons, we'd rather see you lose in Game 7 of the World Series to a bloop walk-off base hit."

Ouch. No love...