This Fall Classic Is Going Full Bore

Every World Series seeks its own level, and thus a trickle became a waterfall Sunday, this 99th version coursing downhill past interesting, through ordinary, into a tepid pool of yawn.

Two games down, and I’m bored stiff.

The series is tied at one game apiece yet, at this point, I’m wondering whether anybody who wasn’t born in New York cares what happens next.

The people who live here are cheering for the New York Yankees. The people who used to live here, all of them having moved to Boca Raton, are cheering for the Florida Marlins.

While the rest of us still pine for the Cubs or Red Sox.

The Yankees painted the field with the Marlins on Sunday, 6-1, yet I focused on somebody sitting in the box seats. It was a guy named Dusty Baker. Why isn’t he in uniform? How can he be smiling?

The Yankees’ Andy Pettitte created a splendid tableau, yet all I could see was a recent photo showing Nomar Garciaparra hanging out with Mia Hamm while packing up his stuff at Fenway Park. Why isn’t he at the plate? How can he be wearing blue jeans?

The malaise that hampered the Yankees in Game 1 spread Sunday with the realization that baseball’s greatest postseason may have overstayed its welcome.

Watching the Yankees bang out a bunch of hits for the millionth postseason game? Against a Marlin team that didn’t draw its 500th fan until September? It’s like watching bad previews after a great movie.

The feeling of finality that occurred after the decisive league championship games has stuck around like low-lying fog. Baseball didn’t need both the Cubs and Red Sox in the World Series, but, goodness, it needed one of them.

After three delicious weeks of curses, the only ones we are hearing now are coming from the Yankee Stadium bleacher creatures, and even they are struggling, it being difficult to find a body part that rhymes with Encarnacion.

After three weeks of billy goats and Buckner, we are left with cigar smoke and Redman, both of which have stunk.

We have an Alex Gonzalez, but it’s the wrong, .082-hitting Alex Gonzalez.

We’ve gone from Cubbies to Godzilla, from the Green Monster to Billy the Marlin, from charming to trite.

Derek Jeter, what do you think about this week’s Series home, Pro Player Stadium?

“They played a football game there today,” he said with a sigh.

Thus far, my favorite note of this World Series is that Andy Ashby earned more this season than all but one of the Florida Marlins.

My second favorite note is that, the morning after the victory over the Boston Red Sox, Babe Ruth’s grave was visited by a delivery boy bearing a hot pizza.

After the first game of this World Series, David Wells said, “It felt like a game in June.”

On Sunday, even in 48-degree temperatures, it was the dog days of August.

The Marlins had a chance to continue their impressive gnat-picking in the first inning when Juan Pierre grounded out after an eight-pitch battle, then Luis Castillo beat out an infield single after a seven-pitch battle, then Ivan Rodriguez worked Pettitte to a full count.

“We had a chance right there,” Castillo said.

On the next pitch, Rodriguez struck out looking and Castillo was thrown out trying to steal second.

After Hideki Matsui hit a three-run home run in the bottom of the first, everything changed.

“We couldn’t be so patient after that,” said Castillo, and, indeed, Pettitte needed only four pitches in the second inning, struck out the side in the third inning and led, 4-0. Game over.

If these were the Cubs, everyone would be moaning that the loss could lead to imminent destruction.

These being the Marlins, everyone shrugged.

“We came out of here with what we wanted to get,” reliever Chad Fox said.

If these were the Red Sox, everyone would be desperately questioning the manager about one or two or 17 strategic moves.

These being the Yankees, even their little controversy of whether weed-whacking Alfonso Soriano should remain in the leadoff spot was killed with kindness.

“Joe asked me if I wanted to keep batting leadoff, and I said yes,” said Soriano, who rewarded his boss’ compliance with a two-run homer.

This World Series is too nice. It’s too relaxed. In a matter of days, we’ve gone from no-holds-barred to no-lose, from beanballs to little ball, from tension to humor.

Did you hear the one about Pierre trying to get caught in a rundown between home plate and first base?

Even bad umpiring wasn’t raising anyone’s dander Sunday, as three bad calls elicited zero arguments.

The only history between the two teams was put into perspective by Jeter, when asked what he remembers about Pro Player Stadium, where they played the Marlins in a 2001 interleague series.

“I remember nothing,” he said.

There is still time for things to change. The Marlins throw their cocky young ace Tuesday, and we know anything can come out of Josh Beckett’s arm, or mouth. The Yankees respond with their Hall of Famer on Wednesday, and knowing Roger Clemens, the Marlins better start ducking now.

This World Series can still become a Fall Classic. But so far, after two of America’s most aggrieved teams both blew three-run leads only five outs from advancing here, memories of the Cubs and Red Sox have made it impossible for the World Series to fulfill its promise.

So far, the curse has been on us.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.