The streak is over, but wasn’t that a time?

Mike Minor (right) gets to brag that he finished off the Indians' American League record winning streak.

Mike Minor (right) gets to brag that he finished off the Indians’ American League record winning streak.

All good things must come to their finish, sooner or later. The Indians and their fans would have preferred the streak to finish later, of course, and likewise most of baseball and its lovers. But as the ancient folk song says, “Wasn’t that a time?”

“What they did over there was amazing,” said Royals manager Ned Yost, after his charges hung on for the 4-3 win that put an end to the Indians’ romp. “I mean, it’s utterly amazing. It’s just unfathomable for me that you can go three weeks without losing a game. I mean, it was a tremendous accomplishment.”

For the Indians, it’s blackjack

Ramirez and Lindor are only two Indians with a lot to celebrate as it seems they've forgotten entirely how to lose . . .

Ramirez and Lindor are only two Indians with a lot to celebrate as it seems they’ve forgotten entirely how to lose . . .

Twenty-one means blackjack. Or, the name of the show proving the wick that lit the powder keg of the legendarily notorious quiz show scandal of 1959. In Cleveland, it means American League history. And, for the time being, anyway, invincibility.

Look out, 1935 Chicago Cubs? Step aside, 1916 New York Giants? The Indians aren’t that crazy no matter how invincible they feel after finishing off the teetering Tigers 5-3 Wednesday afternoon. But you wouldn’t blame them for thinking about it, either.

The merry-go-round goes round (and round, and round) for the Indians

It's getting to be a daily habit---Indians celebrating wins, that is . . .

It’s getting to be a daily habit—Indians celebrating wins, that is . . .

Don’t look now, but the Dodgers have turned from everybody’s runaway train to a trainwreck losing nine straight and fourteen of fifteen. And the Indians—as in, the guys who got thatclose to winning the World Series last year—have picked up where the Dodgers left off and won seventeen straight.

Right now the Indians look like the team to beat who may be next to impossible to beat. May.¬†And that’s without Miller Time.

The Yankees fumble on their new toy’s dime

Gray started his life as a Yankee with a 2-0 deficit not of his own making on a night Corey Kluber was impossible to hit . . .

Gray started his life as a Yankee with a 2-0 deficit not of his own making on a night Corey Kluber was impossible to hit . . .

Once upon a time, Athletics fans hailed a Sonny Gray start with a banner on the railing reading, “Forecast: Sonny with Chance of Strikeouts.” For Gray’s Yankee debut against Corey Kluber and the Indians, you could have forgiven Indians fans if they’d thought to hang one reading, “Forecast: Sonny with Chance of Errors.”

The Indians, the little team that almost did

Kluber (left), Francona, and the Indians proved the little team that could have but . . .Somewhere in the middle of the party enveloping Wrigleyville, which isn’t likely to re-open until spring training, at minimum, the heart of every Cub fan knows without having to say it. They ended baseball’s longest championship drought the hard way.

And they ought to congratulate the Cleveland Indians for making the Cubs absolutely earn it, no matter what surrealities came into play in Game Seven or, frankly, in the entire World Series. Rarely has any team robbed of so much taken a World Series to the absolute final out with so little left to expend from their bold selves as the Indians took.

The Cubs. World champions. Signed, Epstein’s mother.

The party's on . . .

The party’s on . . .

Jolly Cholly Grimm started Hy Vandenburg instead of Hank Borowy. The College of Coaches was decertified in its crib. Leo Durocher didn’t burn out his regulars and make nervous wrecks out of his subs and rookies. Leon Durham fielded the grounder. Steve Garvey made a long out. Dusty Baker lifted Mark Prior to start the eighth. Alex Gonzalez fielded the hopper cleanly and turned the double play.

The Cubs, not Naquin, forced Game Seven

Naquin, after stranding ducks on the pond with a fourth inning-ending strikeout, wasn't the main reason there'll be a Game Seven.

Naquin, after stranding ducks on the pond with a fourth inning-ending strikeout, wasn’t the main reason there’ll be a Game Seven.

Heaven help Tyler Naquin and Lonnie Chisenhall if the Indians go forth and fall in Game Seven. Try as you might, the sports goat business never falls onto hard times. And it’s a lot easier to seek, find, and put in the stockade a single culprit than to look beyond his moment of infamy.

To Game Seven, via the ICU

Chapman in the eighth . . .

Chapman in the eighth . . .

Forget about making things a little more exciting even when they leave themselves room enough to make things simple. These Cubs are just hell bent on keeping Cub Country not on edge, but within easy reach of the intensive care unit.

These Indians seem hell bent likewise regarding the Indian Isles, who must have thought—after the Cubs forced a seventh World Series game—that simplicity is simply not an option anymore.

Francona’s been there, Maddon would like to do that

Francona (left) has broken one franchise curse and strikes to break another; Maddon would settle for breaking one right now.

Francona (left) has broken one franchise curse and strikes to break another; Maddon would settle for breaking one right now.

Terry Francona has been here and done that. If there’s anyone in baseball who knows what it’s like to steer a team heretofore in the wilderness and under heavy curses, actual or alleged, it’s Francona.

A man who shepherded the once-snake bitten Red Sox to shove back with everything they had, only beginning when Dave Roberts stole second on Mariano Rivera with the Sox three outs from an elimination sweep, isn’t exactly going to let a Cub uprising in Game Five of this World Series bite him that hard.

Chapman, Cubs answer the “big ask”

Eight outs? Sure! Why the hell not?

Eight outs? Sure! Why the hell not?

Something unexpected happened in Wrigley Field Sunday night. The Cubs—the real Cubs, the ones you watched or heard about all regular season long, the ones you remember from their pre-World Series postseason rounds—came to the ballpark.

They left their impressions of Cub calamities past somewhere. Who knows where? Who cares? The hosts who let the Indians make off with the valuables and leave them tied up in the closet didn’t wait for the cops.