Saturday was loopy enough, hydroplaning, an epic rain delay, frigid temperatures, a 10 p.m. start, an almost 2 a.m. Sunday finish.

No one could argue, though, that it wasn't fair.

When beer sales were cut off in the fourth inning, fans began to protest until they realized it was 11:30.

Around midnight, the longest lines at the Bank were for the men's room (a welcome change, that) and hot chocolate.

Still, it was an epic evening, something to brag about already and to tell the kids and grandkids later.

We got home at 3 p.m.  On Sunday, we nursed a baseball hangover, but in an entirely good way.

This was after nly two beers during six hours at the ballpark. We were simply woozy from the win and the strangeness of the late night and early morning.

Last night, if you'll pardon the expression, was a whole different ballgame. 

The evening began deliriously. I've never been to a game where people were so thrilled, and I was fortunate enough to be at the final sixth game of the 1993 epic pennant race. (And went into labor the next day after more than three hours of yelling and jumping.) It was like the whole crowd was jacked up on Red Bull. Fans were making friends with strangers on the Broad Street Line, hugging each other on the walk from the station to the park.  

Then the rain came, at first a drizzle, then Biblical. Our seats -- presumably, we hold them still -- are in the pavillion level, a couple stories above the field. The wind started ripping something fierce. Still, no bozo would call the game.

Most of all, the sheer greed of Bud Selig or Rupert Murdoch (two men one would like to blame for almost anything) was cruel to the ballplayers. In football, players know they get hurt. Any game might end a career. They play in all sorts of  nasty business. Fans and athletes brag about the snow, the sleet.

But not baseball. These elite players hadn't come this far to slip and slide away in the primordial soup that was Monday's weather. They don't practice in such conditions and never play in such torrents, so why allow such foul conditions in the most important game of their lives?

You wouldn't keep your dog out in this weather. Not even your cat. And to what end? Baseball ratings are dropping. Kids can't stay up to watch these games. Loving fans, as devoted as you can find, could barely endure such wet and cold. It's a very good thing no one was injured. All these players, the Phils and the Rays, have worked too hard and played too well to get to this.  

Can someone vote Selig out of office next Tuesday, too?

As of early afternoon Tuesday, tonight's forecast calls for SNOW.