I am a huge St. Louis Cardinals fan. Some of my first memories are of listening to the 1964 World Series on the radio; I remember sneaking a transistor radio into school in 1968 to listen to the Cards lose to the Detroit Tigers; I attending my first (and only) World Series game in 1982, a 10-0 series-opening loss to  the then-American-League member Milwaukee Brewers; I subsequently remember jumping up and down in my tiny, tiny apartment later in that series when the Cards won it in seven. I went into a weeks-long funk in 2004 when the Cards played so awfully against the Boston Red Soxs. And I will always, always, always block Game Six of the 1985 Series against the Royals out of my mind. The names of my late parents are carved into a brick on a sidewalk outside of Busch Stadium. I’m not kidding about my fanboy-ness when it comes to this team.

Tonight, the Cards beat the San Diego Padres to go to the National League Championship Series for the third straight year. I give them virtually no chance against their opponent, the New York Mets, who are clearly the class of the National League. And if somehow the finger of God visits the Cards and gets them to the Series again, I can’t imagine how they could beat either the Tigers or the Oakland A’s, who are playing for the AL title. But a man can dream.