The World Series = Mad Men  It could've been a brilliant World Series. We were a grand slam or millennial phenom or two away from watching the Detroit Tigers and Los Angeles Dodgers fight for the heart of America: meat and potatoes versus Asian fusion, industrial realism vs. CGI blockbuster, working-class schlubs vs. multi-ethnic rude boys. It would've been a fun Series to watch, too, equipped with enough superstars—Fielder! Verlander! Puig! Kershaw!—to fill several cycles of promotional reels.  It wasn't meant to be, but there's not much to complain about how things went down. The Red Sox and Cardinals had the best regular season record in each of their conferences, and rollied through the playoffs with teams built on both organizational know-how and the luck of the draw, transcending each simplistic narrative about how they got here. This World Series doesn't have a natural hero or villain: Both franchises are successful, flush with cash, backed by rabid fan bases, and swathed in red. The real dominant narrative is that both of these teams are really good at what they do—just like Mad Men rolls on episode-by-episode, probably still the best show on television, despite its lack of narrative or visual flash. It just. Similarly, this may be the best World Series we've seen in years. Sometimes, it's as easy as that.
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