With apologies to the late, great Jack Buck, I want to say I do not believe what I just saw.

I saw the Cubs and Marlins square off in a great playoff baseball game.

And I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger give an acceptance speech as the Governor-elect of my home state of California.

	That's right, California -- the Terminator is your new governor.

I saw Pudge Rodriguez swing a bat like Thor swings a hammer, boldly, casually driving in five more runs for his underdog Fish.

And I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger give an acceptance speech as the Governor-elect of my home state of California.

I saw Sammy Sosa poke a ball onto Waveland when all hope seemed lost.

And I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger give an acceptance speech as the Governor-elect of my home state of California.

In the same night, I saw these things, on the same TV, from the same spot on the couch.

I saw thousands of Wrigley faithful, in the stands and on the street, standing, shouting and wishing for a Cubs win with 95 years worth of hurt in their feet and 95 years worth of longing in their throats. It was frenzied and sweet. It was a wild, wondrous thing and I wished I were a part of it.

And I saw thousands of Arnold supporters swarming around a stage, waiting for the gubernatorial balloons and the gubernatorial confetti to fall from the ceiling, waiting to be delivered, bless their hearts, from about seven solid weeks of what must have been excruciating anticipation.

On the one hand, you had Jack McKeon, with his quiet, been-through-the-wars face, peering out of the dugout with eyes proud and hopeful.

On the other hand, you had Gray Davis flashing that Gomer grin at his last little cluster of supporters, and Arnold flashing a smile at a hot young pamphleteer in the front row.

On the one hand, there was Dontrelle Willis, jumping up and down like a madman after the third of three straight Marlins homers in the third inning, and he was young and full of the kind of joy that crashes in waves.

And on the other hand, there was Peggy Noonan, former speech writer for the first President Bush, telling Chris Matthews on MSNBC that Arnold's gubernatorial rise was a "beautiful" triumph-of-the-will story that could only happen in America, and she was full of something, too.

Back-to-back, I watched these things, loving baseball and being mystified by politics, thinking one was sublime and the other ridiculous.

Loved the four triples.

The way the crowd rallied around Carlos Zambrano in the fifth, standing, clapping and eventually willing him to an inning-ending strikeout of Derrek Lee -- loved that.

The way the Marlins never cared what the crowd did, the way Rodriguez and his mates kept doing that dosey-do handslap on the down-low like they were greeting each other on their stoops back in the neighborhood -- loved that, too.

Loved Lofton finding a way, at age 36, to run faster in these playoff games than he has all season. Loved Pierre and Castillo running faster than Kenny ever did back in the day.

And Lowell coming off the bench to go deep, that was definitely loveable (unless, of course, you're a Cubs fan, or you have what I would consider to be a very reasonable contempt for teal).

	Maybe Mike Lowell should run for governor of Florida?

All in all, it was a fat, gripping novel of a night. The lead swung back and forth, the outcome was in doubt throughout. The game had roots and drama, it had valiant heroes and brave losers, and for 11 epic innings it buzzed with faith, fear, hunger and dread.

By the time the California election results started coming in, politics felt cheap and looked goofy by comparison.

We've known Arnold was coming down the Governor track for a while now. But still, his little tilted head at the bottom of the screen alongside the ticker last night was a surreal stunner.

Forget your party affiliation, forget the fact that he has no experience, forget your feeling for "Terminator" and "Twins," and think about this: This is a man who made "The Last Action Hero," this is a man who said yes to "Junior" (not to mention the fact that this is a man who mercilessly mocked the Incredible Hulk -- go back and look at "Pumping Iron"; what he does to Lou Ferrigno just ain't right) and "Jingle All The Way." How does this man end up Governor of the Golden State? I know Gray was awful, I know Arnold has money, blah, blah, blah, but I'm saying, in a bigger sense ... Conan is governor? Really?

Sure, voters know his abs and pecs intimately, and they can recite his famous movie lines, but they know almost nothing about his policies or plans. And what's more, they know enough about language and spin to know he's not not confirming that the groping may have (or may not have) (but probably has) gone on.

So I was watching the recall coverage last night and wondering, like the English Beat, "wha'ppen?"

Then, when I flipped over to see replayed highlights from the game, it hit me: Peggy Noonan was right in a way. The Arnold thing isn't how or why it happened, it's that it happened. It's the fact that anything can happen.

I was busy working out a "baseball = good; bodybuilder governor = bad" thesis for this piece when I started to think maybe Arnold's election was a sign, a sign that we're in a whole season of weirdness, the kind of weirdness that generates home runs by Sosa in the 9th and Lowell in the 11th.

Maybe the election isn't so different from the playoffs. Maybe it signals a time when upstart wild cards can play snakebitten (going way, way back) losers for a shot at the Series, a time when the laws of probability and the status of the status quo are torn so wide open that thoughts once wild and absurd are possible, even likely.

The Cubs and Marlins are alive in October. More importantly, the Cubs and Red Sox are alive in October and could play each other in the Series.

Maybe this election, wacky as it's been, is just the start. Maybe it's a harbinger. Maybe the folks in either Chicago or Boston are about to get off the schneid.

Eric Neel is a regular columnist for Page 2.