I guess it's official. I've become a convert.

All my life I've ranked the sports I like. Football and basketball always tied for first place, and still do. I then ranked golf and tennis and track and field. Maybe it's because I played all of them, except for basketball.

Baseball was always well down my list. I have trouble remembering when, or if, I ever watched an entire game on television. Even when I went to the games, either to write about them or to be a spectator, it was very rare for me to be around after the 7th inning stretch.

I was always one of those guys who said the game was too slow. I said they really aren't athletes. I thought it didn't take much to catch a baseball or throw one. I even thought hitting it wasn't all that hard. I hated the time that pitchers and hitters took between pitches. I thought, as a team sport, it ranked well down the list behind basketball and football and even hockey, which I hate.

You never needed to have plays in baseball, did you.

Well, I am done with all of that. I have converted. I don't think baseball has surpassed football or basketball, but it is at least knocking at the door. I don't suppose that baseball cares one way or another, but I care.

The change of heart took place last Friday night when the Brewers beat Arizona to earn a spot in the NLCS. It was moments that got me caught up in things. Brief moments that seem to give baseball its very soul.

Prince Fielder, charging to field a bunt and throw to home to stop the squeeze play and running into John Axford to allow the run to score and tie the game.

Jerry Hairston getting a huge hit only to have Chris Young make a miraculous catch in centerfield. Hairston's reaction was priceless.

Catcher Jonathan Lucroy handling a bunch of pitches that bumped off the dirt and then his chest and shoulder and chin, and taking it like a man.

Mark Attanasio wearing a gray hoodie.

Front Row Amy beginning to act like the star she has become.

Francisco Rodriguez, looking like the roof is about to fall on his head, only to pitch himself out of incredible trouble.

John Axford, the perfect closer, teaching all of us that there is no such thing as perfection in baseball. But he recovered in the 10th to prove that he is mensch.

And finally, Carlos Gomez, running like a cheetah with the roar of thousands ringing down and his teammates headed out to mob him after he had barely cleared third base. What a feeling.

I learned something about basebasll Friday night. It's slow for a reason. It has long pauses so the drama can build. It's like watching a great play. The pacing is vitally important to the story.

Now that I have come to appreciate baseball, I wonder if soccer can be far behind.

Nah.