Slaw Says: Memories of World Series are unrelated to games

So the World Series is over and it is time to reflect on what is going to be remembered from this year's fall classic.

In my opinion, this wasn't a very exciting World Series. Sure, Barry Bonds and Troy Glaus hit a lot of home runs, but we've seen that before. There were some late comebacks and whatnot, but the Yankees and Diamondbacks sort of cornered the market on that last year. Some great defensive plays were made, but people don't remember defense when it comes to baseball.

There are only two things from this World Series I'm going to stow away in the wrinkles of my brain and neither of them really had that much to do with the games.

The first one is the scene of Dusty Baker's son almost getting freight-trained at home when he ran out to pick up a bat while two Giants were chugging towards the plate. Thankfully, J.T. Snow was quick-minded enough to snag the rookie batboy as he ran by so no harm came to him.

That scene will probably stick with us for quite a while. Eventually, it will start to fade away, only to be called back up by Sportscenter and similar incidents.

The other thing I'll remember from this postseason, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. It has found its niche in me and tucked itself in for eternity.

I am of course talking about the rally monkeys.

For those readers who have no idea what I'm talking about, let me try to explain.

Whenever the Angels would be behind late in a game, the Anaheim fans would pull out toy monkeys to rally their team. Hence the term, rally monkeys. Cute, huh?

The rally monkeys are just the latest in a line of fan practices that I could really do without. The Atlanta Braves' fans do their tomahawk chop "thing," the cheese-heads in Green Bay wear fake cheese on their heads and Chicago Cubs fans have that whole "Wait till next year" chant. Now the Angels have the monkeys.

Let me say this. I love monkeys. For a long time now, they have been my favorite animals. This goes well past that though. I don't just collect stuffed monkeys. Well, I do, but that's not it. I want to be a monkey.

Ok, maybe not BE a monkey exactly, but I want the tail. I think monkeys' tails are about the handiest thing ever. Think about it.

Whenever you need one more hand, BAM! There's your tail. Whenever you want to hang upside down, BAM! There's your tail. Whenever you have an itch that you can't quite reach...I think you probably get it by now.

That being said, the stupid Anaheim Angels' rally monkeys have destroyed my fantasy.

Now, every time I think about how great it would be to live in the trees and eat bananas all day, my mind quickly flashes to the idea of a monkey me being held by some five-year old cheering for the Angels. That's no life for a monkey.

Are the rally monkeys strong enough to force me to replace monkeys as my favorite animals? It is too early in this nightmare to say, but I will say this:

I think armadillos are pretty cool.