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All right now. Thursday means something. That's all we wanted. A little juice, a little tension in the air. A shot for the U.S. to redeem itself after the 7-3 whupping Korea laid on it Monday night. A chance for Mexico to get up off the mat. Let's play ball.

The WBC's benefits of Team USA's advancing to the finals are obvious: The host country, the birthplace of baseball, squaring off for the title gives this fledgling tournament some real traction and makes it that much more likely to capture the imagination, and the spending money, of the American public.

But, while I worry I might be in violation of the Patriot Act just for thinking this, I gotta say, I'm not freaking over the idea of an early ouster for the United States.

If I were selling TV time or scalping tickets to the finals, I'd be a little wigged, but as a baseball enthusiast, I'm OK with it.

For one thing, this kind of thing usually sparks a renaissance, as folks get all worked up, a la the post-USA-Basketball-in-Athens situation. A loss in the second round of the World Baseball Classic would mean we could count on even more marquee American-born players, looking to make things right, committing to WBC II. We also could reasonably anticipate the Team USA brain trust doing a little Apollo 13-style outside-the-box thinking (maybe guys like Peavy and Willis, with funky mechanics that take time to get right, don't get slotted as your aces, and if they do, and they're getting hammered early in games, you go yank 'em early in games, convention be damned). And what's more, we'll likely see future incarnations of the United States team working out as a team earlier and more often in the interest of bonding, strategizing and generally pushing each other to get better.

For another thing, if we're talking about cosmic balance and karma and such, I'm not sure Team USA should be in the finals. Seriously, if we've been playing the "World" Series between teams in North America all these years, if the United States got the privilege of hosting this tournament the first time out, and if, oh by the way, the umpiring crew was entirely homegrown, isn't a little international flavor exactly what's called for in the finals? I mean, if we're going to be about globalization with this thing, let's go global already.

Want another reason? If Team USA is gone, so are their god-awful uniforms. These were a Blue Light special in the sleepwear section, right? The folks behind Power Rangers are filing on copyright infringement as we speak, yes?

Forget fair. Never mind a seven-game series. This ain't October, this is its own thing. And in this thing, you hang by a thread, like Jonathan Edwards' sinners in the hands of an angry God. In this thing, joy always travels with its partner sorrow, and in this thing, you cherish today because you may well be gone tomorrow.

And here's another: This is the way tournaments work. Teams go home early. This is why we love the NCAA Tournament so much. Is it fair? Would it go this way in a seven-game series between the U.S. and Korea? Forget fair. Never mind a seven-game series. This ain't October, this is its own thing. And in this thing, you hang by a thread, like Jonathan Edwards' sinners in the hands of an angry God. In this thing, joy always travels with its partner sorrow, and in this thing, you cherish today because you may well be gone tomorrow.

And how about this? If they go out, we're done with the whiny Steinbrenner sound bites (at least about the WBC). Johnny Damon has a sore shoulder, but Alex and Derek are coming home early, safe and sound, nary a hammy twinge between them.

And let's not forget, as Eric Karros pointed out here in Anaheim the other night, if Japan were left out of the finals -- after what went down with umpire Bob Davidson's call that favored the U.S. vs. Japan -- we could be looking at some serious trade sanctions come the next G8 Summit. Nobody wants to see that. We want our Hondas. We need our PlayStation 3s.

What else? Passion. The Korean crowd in Anaheim on Wednesday night was apoplectic from the first pitch. Routine ground balls were cause for great celebration, and they cheered Ichiro's third-inning strikeout like a blood-lusty bunch at the bullfights in Seville. And meanwhile, down in San Juan, every member of the Puerto Rican constituency, on and off the field, was on or over the brink of tears after losing to Cuba. The players on the U.S. team are psyched to be here -- Chipper Jones, Dontrelle Willis, Roger Clemens and others have gushed about what it means to them to wear the stars and stripes -- but the international teams and their fans are bringing another order of pathos and desire to the ballpark for these games. They're converting the games into events, into ecstatic happenings. The best of the WBC includes two teams and two followings at a fever pitch, regardless of what uniform or what face paint they're wearing.

Think that's all? How about the prospect in Round 3 of an epic clash between Team Korea and Team Japan? They've played two one-run games so far, both won by Korea. And here's the legendary Sadaharu Oh's throw-down comment on the prospect of a third: "We have a saying in Japan: 'The third time, the truth comes.'" Yeah, baby. Let's get it on.

And let's close with this: A USA-less final weekend could mean more coverage...

Of Korea's Seung Yeop Lee, whose sweet, compact swing is worthy of all the slow-motion-Ted-Williams-superimposed-physicist-broken-down analysis the Worldwide Leader TV team can muster.

Of the Mexican faithful pouring in from all over Southern California (and, no doubt, over the border) to pack the house at Petco.

Of Japan's Tsuyoshi Nishioka, whose stringy dye-job hipster mullet and timely home runs could well inspire a worldwide anime revolution.

Of the mysterious Cubans and the emerging black-market trade for their souvenirs, gear and, of course, cigars.

And of Big Papi. Because really, who can ever get enough of Big Papi?

Eric Neel is a columnist for Page 2.