The one characteristic of the 2005 Angels is that the winning and the losing were so distinctive.
When they were winning, it seemed like they did it every game, that the starting pitching set the tempo, the offense played a simple melody and the bullpen nailed an effortless finale. Everyone applauded Arte, glossed over the close calls and ordered another round, the party just beginning to swing.
When they were losing, the defeats were agonizing affairs, slow drownings of treading water to shore only to be pulled under by a riptide in sight of a lifeguard whose run down the beach and dive into the surf was the last thing observed during the fretful, inevitable tug of dark gravity.
When I think about each season, I recall the character of the team. This one is still too close to call, but the schizophrenia will render an absolute. Are we at the club or are we off the beach?