Misters November.

People, it's turned cold, and it's caught me unawares. Cold and drizzly. The fancies had wanted sun. Cool, but sunny. And now? Gray all day long, then cooler and cooler until we finally went cold, and also along with that all manner of fog and rain and drizzle—friends and fans of weather, if I didn't know any better, I'd say we'd eventually, tonight, arrived unabashedly at November. Somebody check the time to see if it's changed over from Daylight Savings. Oh. It has. I see.

And this'll jinx it for sure, but the Phillies have just homered to tie Game Four. Get thee to a nunnery, designated hitter.

And oh dear sweet baby Jesus in a three-quarter-length-sleeved t-shirt, they've brought in Brad Lidge. For those of you just tuning in, he had a tough regular season.

But this is not This Week In Baseball. This is the forecast, and the forecast is this: flannel and fleece, jeans and boots. The heart of the Yankees order up here in the top of the ninth. The dog, dinner-plate-sized, curled into sleep on the sofa. The wind rattling the windows in their frames. Cold. Or cool. One of the two.