ST. LOUIS, Mo. — Well, having no real commitments to worry about (other than the five classes I’m currently failing, a newspaper that — I’m pretty sure we’ll all agree — would fall apart without my weekly stylings and an extremely demanding cactus/plant-like thing that — whether I’m supposed to or not — I water three times every day and give Goldschlager to on Fridays) I’ve made the trek back down south to the hometown of Nelly, Scott Starks, John Goodman, Jake Leonard and Billy Burroughs (must be something in that gorgeous, rust-colored Mississippi drinkin’ water).

And, having no other possible way to occupy the 90 percent of my brain committed to concerning itself with sports (all those nice things that — just yesterday — Mike Robinson was charming you with: you know, about UW being the Godsend of athletic establishments and all; yeah, I can’t even force myself to care a little bit about them), I’ve decided to break most journalistic codes (not to mention common-sensical ones) and write about something that you — reading this Thursday — almost certainly know more about than me — writing this at about 4 p.m. Wednesday.

What can I say? It’s late October: it’s the season of getting ahead of ourselves, making rash assumptions and setting ourselves up to look like idiots. That’s just how it is this time of year. It’s World Series season.

As expected, my presence in the Lou has escalated things from bad to worse (or maybe this would even qualify as a “worse to worst” escalation); before my very eyes last night the Birds handed the Sox a three-game series lead. Though the Cards have yet to do the unconscionable and actually give a World Series to a team that decided 80-some-odd years ago that it didn’t even want one, it’s pretty clear that by the time this actually prints, they will have.

So, I thought — instead of just moping and complaining (or, rather, as a complement to moping and complaining) — I’d look back and try to figure out how in the hell I, as a fan (with all the game-swaying power that title entails), allowed this to happen.

How did I — one nation, against the Sox — allow idiots (a kinder word than I’ve made a habit of using for this bunch) like Manny Ramirez, Johnny Damon and Pedro Martinez to lift a curse that it took nearly a century to perfect?

Let’s start at the beginning:

The first mistake that I made was thinking that the Sox weren’t good enough to win it all and (inadvertent cringe) actually rooted for them to make the Series.

It seemed harmless at the time. Pedro was a fun guy to root for; he grew that crazy-ass hair out, collapsed in predictable fashion every time the going got going and spent his free time conspiring to start a circus freak show. Manny was the same, with that vacant, wide-eyed (read: dumb) expression he wore across his face every time he came to the plate. Certainly Johnny Damon didn’t look threatening, going into zero-for-90 slumps on the not-too-rare occasions that he remembered he wasn’t actually Jesus.

“Why not?” I figured. “Why not root for the good ole harmless Sox? They can’t win; that just doesn’t happen when they’re involved.”

What I didn’t realize was that they were all devils disguised as dipshits. Pedro, Manny and Johnny — those guys can actually play when you give them the chance. I mean, you have to do things like tossing them 0-2 hanging curveballs and getting your players caught between third and home a lot; but when you do things like that, they can beat you.

The second mistake I made was thinking that the Cards were good enough to win it all (and I should have known better on this one).

I have a bit of a history with these types of things. It seems that every time that I’ve really gotten some amount of confidence in any team I follow, they’ve immediately crushed said confidence with remarkable accuracy (and I, naturally, have taken it all very personally).

Example one: St. Louis Blues, 1996. The Blues, under the radar, have established themselves as easily the most painful franchise to follow (or, I suppose, at this point, to not follow) in all of professional sports. In spite of making the playoffs every year since like 1800, the Blues haven’t even managed one Stanley Cup finals appearance.

In 1996, that trend seemed to be on the verge of a bucking. The Blues went up three games to two against the Detroit Redwings; Jon Casey looked great in goal, the defense was stifling and Brett Hull (with a guy named Gretzky making a brief stint by his side) could score on anyone. There was no reason not to think they could go all the way …

… Until I did and they promptly lost two games (the second in overtime on a shot from center ice).

Example two: St. Louis Rams, 2001. This one’s not even fair. I hated the Rams when they arrived in the Lou; anyone who tells you that he didn’t is a liar. They weren’t fun to watch, were perennially awful and had players like “Pretty” Tony Banks as their stars.

Then in 2000, against all odds, the Rams won a Super Bowl. Call me a band-wagoner all you want; but in a town that hadn’t won a game of go-fish since I was eight months old, it was hard not to fall for that act …

… Until I did and Az Hakim fumbled a punt to end the season in the first round of the playoffs the next year.

Example three: St. Louis Cardinals, 1996. The Cards went through some rough times in the early ’90s (known in the Lou alternately as either the Jose DeLeon-days or the Rene Arocha-era). They didn’t win make the playoffs between 1988 and 1995 (something that, while I know it sounds pretty normal to you Crew fans, doesn’t go over very well elsewhere).

Then, in 1996 — in spite of a marginal ball club (two Benes-es? Donovan Osborne? Royce Clayton?) — the Cards got themselves into the postseason, dispatched the Padres in the division series and went up three games to one against the Braves in the championship series. They looked like a safe bet to go to their first World Series since I was five …

… Until I actually placed that bet and they lost the next three games by an average margin of like 20 runs.

These Cards, obviously, are looking like a pretty sure bet to blow those examples all away (by the way, you can rest yourselves assured that I don’t have much confidence in the Badgers completing their perfect season this year).

The final mistake I made was thinking that curses would right all wrongs.

It seemed reasonable. I mean, come on: the Sox winning the series? What’s next? Human sacrifice? Cats and dogs living together? Mass hysteria? The Cubs winning it all? (Okay, that’s too far).

But, hey! Maybe it ain’t all over after all. Maybe the Sox lost last night! Maybe they’ll pull a Yanks and give up in spite of the three games they’ve been spotted.

I guess if the Sox can make it this far, just about anything can happen.