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All's Well That Ends Well
Thank you for They're the Best (So Deal with It) in the Nov. 6 issue. The 2006 St. Louis Cardinals showed that it doesn't matter how bad your season was, it only matters where you are when the fat lady sings.
You could not have picked a better symbol to represent the people of St. Louis than the "short"stop of the world champion Cards. David Eckstein is a perfect example for every child who has been told he or she is too small to play sports. Congratulations to the smallest MVP—with the biggest heart—in World Series history.
It's noteworthy that you gave well-deserved credit to unlikely Cardinals heroes Eckstein, Yadier Molina and Jeff Weaver but did not mention baseball's best player, Albert Pujols. That's the kind of World Series it was.
Perhaps the media's lack of faith in our team resulted in lackluster World Series TV ratings, but the Cards played with a depleted roster all season, banded together to win the required postseason 11 games and deserve to be called world champs.
On behalf of all of Cleveland, thanks to Mark Bechtel for the finely written essay on the true passion Clevelanders have for football (SCORECARD, Nov. 6). I'm not old enough to remember the Browns' glory days, but I support them more than any other team—regardless of their lack of success—and frankly, I don't know why. That's just the way we're brought up in Cleveland. While other cities complain about being cursed, we've remained proud, loyal supporters. Go, Browns!
My father waited until after the 1987 Browns vs. Broncos AFC Championship Game and "the Drive" to take my mother, who was about to give birth to me, to the hospital. When I later asked my father why he had waited, he told me, "I wouldn't have missed that game for the world," and I added, "or your firstborn son." He made it up to me by taking me to the last game played in the Cleveland Municipal Stadium before the team moved to Baltimore.
Steve Rushin's column on the way sports adds to our language gave me a chuckle (AIR AND SPACE, Nov. 6). At East High School in West Chester, Pa., where I am an English teacher, we are required to have fire drills throughout the year. Every now and then we have one near the end of last period, at which point students head for the buses or their cars and go home. My term for this: a walk-off fire drill.