ARLINGTON, Texas – North Texas has its way of lookin' at things, and then of puttin' 'em.

And right about the time the Texas Rangers were gettin' plum pole-axed Saturday night on Nolan Ryan Expressway, as they were witnessing and participating in one of the great offensive performances – if not the greatest – in World Series history, they'd bought themselves another folksy idiom:

Son, you don't get into a hittin' contest with Albert Pujols(notes).

They'd spent the better part of four hours on the sweet spot of Pujols' 34-inch, 32-ounce Marucci AP5 bat.

They'd gone in off the plate and away. They'd come with fastballs sneaking up on the high 90s. They'd bounced sliders and slung cutters.

And yet by the time they were cleaning up after Game 3, as they were sorting through who threw what when, and why, and tending to the casualties in a 16-7 whippin' at the hands of the St. Louis Cardinals, what resonated was five hittable pitches, and what Albert Pujols did to them.

"I'm sure," Rangers

ARLINGTON, Texas – The Four Hoarsemen of the Arch-pocalypse – Conquest, War, Famine and No Comment – appeared one by one on the field at Rangers Ballpark at Arlington, squinting into a blazing Friday afternoon sun.

In less than 24 hours, they'd foisted fresh elements into the World Series, two games old and already notable for its late drama, daily ruminations on managerial brilliance and/or ineptness, hourly reports on the fitness of Josh Hamilton's(notes) groin and other spectacles of too many people in one place over too long a time.

Now, in the down time between Games 2 and 3, we'd added Skategate, the saga of the four St. Louis Cardinals – Albert Pujols(notes), Lance Berkman(notes), Matt Holliday(notes) and Yadier Molina(notes) – who skipped out of the clubhouse in the aftermath of the Texas Rangers' stirring victory Thursday night, leaving reporters to think up their own stuff.

The reaction was swift and scolding. No one got it worse than Pujols, of course.

By the following day,

ST. LOUIS – When he reached first base in what looked like another loss, after the ball he'd hit landed just over the shortstop and just in front of the outfielders, Ian Kinsler(notes) allowed himself a glance toward his dugout.

They wouldn't hold him now, would they? They couldn't, could they?

In almost all circumstances, Kinsler is left to his own guile on the basepaths. He is a base stealer, among the best in baseball. He goes when he believes he can go. Or should go.

Once in a while, though, the hand signal comes from the bench: Don't.

So, in Game 2 of the World Series, in the ninth inning, with nobody out and the St. Louis Cardinals closer on the mound and the league's finest defensive catcher behind the plate, his duty was to look. He didn't want to know, but he had to look.

Nothing. Take it if you can. Get thrown out, and Game 2 is all but over. It's up to you.

Talk to three Texas Rangers officials and get three different answers. Jason Motte(notes), the Cardinals' closer, is

ST. LOUIS – Well, see, this is the problem when one is playing in a National League ballpark, playing a National League game, "matching a wit" against a National League manager.

For every ballplayer one takes out of an apparent unpromising situation, there remains the complementary proposition, which is to uncover the better alternative.

Assuming there is one.

The Texas Rangers, whose game is about as National League as there is in the American League, for the better part of three hours Wednesday night worked the angles and hunches and the bullpen door right alongside the St. Louis Cardinals.

Still, they would lose Game 1 of the 107th World Series, 3-2.

They lost it when the Cardinals scrambled for a run in the sixth inning, after C.J. Wilson(notes) put a couple men on base and Allen Craig(notes) singled one of them home against the previously impenetrable Alexi Ogando(notes). Then the Cardinals' bullpen held, predictably.

They lost it when they failed to push a run across in the sixth

At the height of the party in Arlington, Texas, when the confetti was swirling and the trophies were being distributed and the partiers were chanting "Cr-o-o-o-o-z," Ron Washington, manager of the Texas Rangers, was asked about the MVP of the American League Championship Series.

Something along the lines of, "Aren't you happy you didn't have to face Nelson Cruz(notes) in this series?"

Washington leaned into the microphone, in front of all of those people, and said, "I'm very happy. I'll tell you what, if I did, I'd probably throw him breaking balls."

And you wonder at that moment how many Detroit Tigers pitchers slapped their foreheads, particularly the ones who threw Nelson Cruz fastballs.

Because, yeah, Cruz had just finished one of the great playoff series in history, dropping six home runs, 13 RBIs and a .364 batting average on the Tigers in six games.

The man dominated the series without ever hitting a single. He had eight hits; the other two were doubles.

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ARLINGTON, Texas – You know what they don't talk much about anymore at Rangers Ballpark in Arlington?

Football.

Well, let's just say they don't go on and on about it. Too much.

A World Series appearance after most of a dry half-century, that clears a place for baseball in your soul.

Two? In a row?

For better or worse, that kind of makes you a baseball town.

So on a Saturday night in mid-October, with the Texas Rangers playing in front of another notable and local two-termer (George W. Bush), baseball muscled maybe two more Sundays into football season, with a big ol' shindig of fireworks and Lone Stars.

Just like last year.

Up against the prospect of a winner-take-all Game 7 the next night, the Rangers finished the battle-worn Detroit Tigers in a Game 6 that was less ballgame than mercy killing.

The final score was 15-5. It wasn't quite that close.

The better team won.

From the longest, hottest summer most folks could recall here, the better team won. From what was once, and for the

ARLINGTON, Texas – It's the Texas Rangers, of course, who have the advantages of a lead in the American League Championship Series, two home games to win one, and the deeper lineup and bullpen.

And yet they could have a problem with the Detroit Tigers.

See, this underdog stuff, this guts-and-glory stuff, this team-of-destiny stuff, it's all just bar talk and column filler right up until the moment the underdog goes all guts and glory and team-of-destiny on your comfortable self.

You know, when they start playing with tears rolling down their faces. When a couple bad knees or a knife in the ribs become inspirational. Or when a double-play ball hits the stupid base and winds up down the left-field line.

If you're wondering how a team that won 95 games in the regular season, then knocked off the New York Yankees in the division series and employs the best pitcher and hitter in the league finds itself as the puppy dog with the splinter in its paw, it had everything to do with the first

DETROIT – It was all going to hurt tomorrow, win or lose.

So, heck, they won.

Alex Avila(notes) was still going to be running like an octogenarian. Uphill.

Delmon Young(notes) was still going to be sore and a little cranky. Well, sore and crankier.

Victor Martinez(notes) was still going to need help taking off his shirt. That, I'm assuming.

Magglio Ordonez(notes) was still going to be in a walking boot.

The Texas Rangers were still going to be leading the American League Championship Series.

Or, the Rangers would have ended it.

The Detroit Tigers were whipped and achy and a little cranky themselves. They were down their best two relievers in an already thin bullpen. (Jose Valverde(notes) and Joaquin Benoit(notes) had pitched too much in the series, leaving manager Jim Leyland with two options if Justin Verlander(notes) ran out of pitches: a Phil Coke(notes) and a smile.)

So, they may as well have kept going.

"This is not over yet," Leyland had said earlier in the afternoon. "Trust