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By the end of the World Series, I am usually done. (I did, in fact, sleep for the better part of the last two days.) On Sunday, though, I wanted Game Eight. I did not want to let this Series go. I wanted more Shohei, more Mookie, more Vladito. I wanted more of that catcher shaped like a mailbox and that right-handed pitcher who looks like a movie star. I wanted more of that 22-year-old in his first pro season shoving on a $150 million lineup, and the 37-year-old on his way into retirement getting one last big out with the bases loaded in the 12th inning. More Daulton Varsho diving, more Ernie Clement raking, more Justin Wrobleski dealing. More people learning who those three guys even are.
