Have you ever had the mischance of predicting an event that deep down inside you absolutely hoped would not occur?  Have you then sat back and watched as circumstances played out exactly the way you had hoped, just not as you had predicted?

Well I have. I remember being a little kid and hoping to get a certain Transformer action figure for Christmas. Likewise, my younger brother was also hoping to find a Transformer figure under the tree that year. As the great gift-receiving holiday slowly approached, I repeatedly reminded my brother that we would most likely be getting the regular assortment of mittens, socks, and underwear instead of the fantastic toys we were so hoping for.

As time progressed, I continued to be the voice of reason whenever my brother and I discussed the upcoming holiday season anticipating what we may find underneath the tree when the special morning finally arrived. All the while, deep down inside, I was secretly hoping beyond hope that if I received just one thing, if I were to find only a solitary gift with my name on it under the tree, I wished it would be the Transformer I so badly wanted.

When Christmas morning finally arrived I awoke and rushed to the living room to sort through the normal assortment of toothbrush, floss and various candies packed into my stocking with the dreaded apple stuffed into the toe (as if I was ever going to touch that apple mom, er, I mean Santa). Then, my brother and I anxiously began going through the presents under the tree, neatly sorting and stacking the gifts by name; mom and dad's piles at opposite ends of the couch, my sister Abbi's pile next to the coffee table, my brother Neil's next to the entertainment center with my pile in front of the blue recliner that no longer reclined.

Then we waited for our parents to awaken to begin the days' main event -- the opening!

Once everyone was finally roused from they're morning slumber, we all convened in the living room for the paper-tearing festivities to begin. As expected, I was greeted with the all too familiar wrapped packages of Fruit-Of-The-Looms, tube socks and sweaters, as well as the toy truck that had come up missing recently, which was re-gifted by my brother even though it was already mine. Evidently, in a child's mind giving your brother something he already owns, and enjoys, qualifies as a can't miss gift.

Ultimately, after all of the commotion was over and my mother began collecting the paper scraps strewn across the floor by her mongrel offspring, I sat contently in the living room basking in the sheer delight of receiving the ultimate gift. I had gotten the new Transformer: Starscream action figure I so desperately wanted.

I paid no attention to my mother who was imploring us kids to get dressed for the trip to grandma and grandpa's for Christmas dinner. Even though I had spent months preparing myself for the potential let down of my adolescent life, thankfully it had not come to pass. Incidentally, my brother also received a new Transformer, but unfortunately for him it wasn't the one he wanted. That early disappointment likely prepared him for life as a Chicago Cubs fan, but that's a whole other story altogether.

Fast forward about 25-years or so…

As my St Louis Cardinals were heading down the homestretch of the regular season, I helplessly watched as their lead over the hated Houston Astros disappeared faster than… well, faster than a Brad Lidge fastball hit over the leftfield fence. Spurred on by the countless baseball "experts" across the country, who were rambling on about the team's late season showing, I was inspired to sit down at my computer and write about the Cardinals possible failure to land a playoff spot, and its' place among the all-time worst collapses in baseball history.

I concluded that my beloved Cardinals would muster just enough to win the division, but could not be expected to do anything once the playoffs began, citing their regular season record, team ERA and questionable health as the primary reasons for my pessimism. However, I ended that article with the mantra, "Anything can happen when we get to the playoffs, anything can happen when we get to the playoffs."

Eventually, my Cardinals finished the season with a loss in Milwaukee. However, thanks to six shutout innings by John Smoltz, the Astros were beaten by the Atlanta Braves and relinquished the Central Division title to the St Louis. Next it was off to the playoffs.

Just like I figured I wouldn't get that Transformer for Christmas, I also figured the Cardinals had little chance of becoming World Series Champions. I bought in to the hype. Web sites, sports talk hosts, baseball columnists, ESPN's talking heads; nobody gave them a chance, and I believed them.

The NY Mets were the best team in the National League all season. The LA Dodgers and San Diego Padres were both playing some of their best baseball to finish the season. Did this Cardinal team that barely backed in to the playoffs really have any hope? I now realize that I was wrong.

Did I give this Cardinals team a chance against the Padres? No, not really. The Mets? Absolutely not. How about the Tigers? I was just hoping we wouldn't see a series sweep again.

But, darn it, this team just continued to win. Displaying a cohesiveness they were somehow devoid of for 162-games during the regular season, they appeared to have flipped some magical switch and increased the intensity when it was most needed.

In a sports era in which the grandiose and pretentious invariably receive more attention than actual substance, I was guilty of under-rating my Cardinals chances in the playoffs because of their lackluster regular season and the sports media's lack of respect.

This is a team that consisted of the best hitter in all of baseball, a Cy Young Award winner, numerous Gold Glove award winners, and most importantly a sublime mix of "been there before" veterans and "didn't know they weren't supposed to be there" rookies.

And now, after having recovered from an almost inebriated state that can only be caused by the shock and awe of witnessing a miracle take place, I am able to reflect on just how proud I am of this team, and how ashamed I am that I did not have more faith.

So, to the 2006 St Louis Cardinals I apologize.

To Adam Wainwright, Tyler Johnson, Josh Kinney, Chris Duncan, Yadier Molina, Anthony Reyes, Brad Thompson, and Randy Flores, I apologize for thinking your relative youth and lack of major league service time would lead to you wilting under the pressure of the playoffs.

To staff-ace Chris Carpenter, I apologize for thinking that the heavy workload thrust upon your shoulders for the better part of two seasons was finally taking its' toll in late August.

To Scott Rolen, I apologize for thinking your .224 August batting average was a sure sign that your lingering shoulder pain had become too much to bear, and that you would have been better served spending the end of the season on the disabled list and preparing for the 2007 season.

My apologies to David Eckstein for thinking your height was somehow indicative of the size of your heart.

To Scott Speizio, I apologize for thinking your career was over and you had become the player that hit .062 for the Seattle Mariners last season.

My apologies to Jeff Suppan and Jeff Weaver who I thought would be severely overmatched by the offensive firepower of their playoff opponents.

To Jim Edmonds, I apologize for thinking years of sacrificing your body in centerfield to help your team win had finally begun to take it's toll.

Finally, I apologize to all of the Cardinals fans that remained strong behind their beloved team. I should have known better than to question this team's character. And, after watching how the postseason has played out over the past few seasons, I should have known that "anything can happen when we get to the playoffs" because, well… anything can happen when you get to the playoffs.