So how about having all that to chew on as this series gets rolling, huh? It's a lot juicier than arguing about how to pitch Miguel (7 for his last 8) Cairo. We'll tell you that. (Although if you have any suggestions on that topic, we're sure the Giants would be happy to accept them.)

Now it's possible all of this will be forgotten by the time Woody Williams launches the first pitch Thursday night. But it's also possible it will snow in Key West for the next 60 days.

"It definitely adds a little bit more excitement to the series," said Giants outfielder Reggie Sanders. "I know the fans will be into it a little more."

And we're all for that, here in this post-Yankees October. But more significantly, is it possible this stuff will hang over this series for the players, too?

It's one thing to see two players going at it. But when two managers get their fuses lit -- in a playoff game -- it's time to roll the videotape and call your favorite talk-show host. Just tells you how much emotion wells beneath the surface in these games.

"Just depends," said Baker, "on how many balls are thrown close to somebody."

Accounts were sketchy, actually, on how one pitch to Lofton -- which "I didn't even think was that close," said Cardinals catcher Mike Matheny -- turned this series into a Vince McMahon production. But regardless of the details, something happened.

It was the fifth inning by then. Lofton had walked and scored in the first inning. Then he'd singled to start an astonishing blitz of six straight two-out hits off Morris in the second. Then he'd whomped a long homer off Morris in the third that lengthened the Giants' lead to 6-1.

But as soon as that home run left his bat, Lofton knew what he'd done. So he did some brief sightseeing, then headed around the bases.

"I'm not sure what happened," said his teammate, J.T. Snow. "I was watching the ball. But then I saw Morris staring at him all the way around."

The Cardinals later claimed there was nothing to that theory, that they weren't teed off by Lofton's pose one iota. But coincidence or not, when Lofton came to bat with two outs and no one on in the fifth, Crudale's first pitch was a fastball up and in.

It wasn't aimed at his helmet. It clearly wasn't intended to hit him. But Lofton spun out of the way, then began jawing immediately. Whereupon Matheny jawed back. And next thing you knew, there were more people streaming onto the field than attended a couple of Expos games this year. They sure weren't out there to debate whether to invade Iraq.

Lofton's version: "We were kicking their butts at the time, and they just had to do something to upset me or (tick) me off."

Matheny's more diplomatic version: "I'll admit I stepped out there. That's what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to protect my pitcher. Did I say something? I may have. I don't remember if I did. But is it beyond me? No."

In case you were wondering, these were two teams with no real history of prior trouble. But after listening to La Russa's postgame press conference, Baker observed: "Sounds like there was some history between Tony and Kenny."

Sure does. Listen up yourself:

"That was very unnecessary," La Russa said of Lofton. "He's done that before. You throw the ball inside, and he's always reacting like you're trying to hit him. He's just trying to change the way the game is played and not have anybody pop him inside. ... It's a trick that Lofton does that we don't appreciate."

Uh, obviously.

So out they all came -- benches, coaching staffs, bullpens and, in the big match of the day, the two managers.

Funny thing is, they'd been having a lovefest for the last day and a half -- La Russa lobbying for Baker to "break the bank" with his next contract this winter, Baker giving La Russa a warm hug on the field during pregame introductions. But that love got lost in a hurry once those benches emptied.

La Russa accused Baker of hitting Edgar Renteria in the first inning because he'd batted .500 against the Giants this year. Baker told him "no way in heck were we trying to hit Renteria to load the bases up with a 1-0 lead."

Baker then questioned why La Russa had hooked Morris just before Lofton's at-bat -- with the pitcher (Kirk Rueter) coming up. The inference was that Morris didn't want to drill Lofton, so La Russa brought in Crudale to do it.

Amusingly, Baker referred to this verbal tug o'war as just "a discussion." But let's just say it got slightly louder than if they were discussing, say, the ground rules.

Asked what happened to all that love they'd been spewing at each other, Baker said: "Hey, when the game starts, if my brother was on the other side, I'd do the same thing. He's not my brother once the game starts."

But he also claimed all would be forgotten by the next day, just like in those TV series where everybody comes down with amnesia.

"Tony's a winner," Baker siad. "He's going to do what he needs to do to defend his team. And I'm going to do what I can do to defend my team. We're not out here playing jacks. Know what I'm saying?"

But it was ironic to hear La Russa accuse Lofton of trying to plot to "change the way the game is played." After all, it was La Russa who, just the day before, had tried to mess with Bonds' head by almost daring him to go up there hacking.

"They're trying to mess with Barry's psyche, but you can't mess with Barry's psyche," Sanders said.

"I don't think anybody could possibly say anything to change Barry's approach," said Rich Aurilia.

"He's trying to get in our heads," Baker said. "But nobody gets in my head, man -- except my daddy. The name of the game is not to get in somebody's head. The name of the game is to cross the plate more times than they do."

Well, the Giants crossed the plate three more times than the Cardinals did Wednesday. But that isn't what most of us will remember about this game.

What most of us will remember is all the other stuff: Lofton wreaking havoc, the Cardinals wreaking Lofton, Bonds walking three times when he wasn't tripling and, especially, two high-profile managers waving agitated fingers in each other's faces.

It's one thing to see two players going at it. But when two managers get their fuses lit -- in a playoff game -- it's time to roll the videotape and call your favorite talk-show host. Just tells you how much emotion wells beneath the surface in these games.

"And emotions," said Matheny, eloquently, "don't have age limits on them."

Jayson Stark is a senior writer for ESPN.com.