PHILADELPHIA — That wasn't baseball.

That was Bud Selig's gift to the Fox network.

That was practice for the groundskeepers and a bonanza for the vendors at Citizens Bank Park.

That was a twisted joke at the expense of Philly fans, who waited a generation to see a World Series championship with their own eyes and sat through a cold downpour for the better part of an hour, until MLB had the guts to admit what everybody else already knew.

That wasn't baseball.

There were a few spots on the infield where gathering puddles would have entitled a golfer to a free drop. Enough rain leaked into batting helmets to make them feel like aquariums. It was cold enough that mittens might have worked just as well as mitts.

In 2005, staring out at much the same cold, wet weather in Chicago as the White Sox prepared to play host to Houston in Game 2 of the World Series, the commissioner said he would call any game rather than go ahead under conditions that would make playing "farcical."

Too late — and too bad he didn't draw the line at "cynical."

Because that's exactly what this exhibition turned out to be.

Game 5 of the World Series was suspended at 11:10 p.m. EDT, after Tampa Bay scored a run in the top of the sixth to tie the game 2-2. That run saved Selig's bacon. If unplayable conditions were the real reason for stopping, it could have been called an inning earlier, when the Phillies were still ahead 2-1 and the game was already official.

But that's never happened before in a World Series. And Selig would have had to wear a disguise everywhere in America where pro baseball is played — except maybe Philadelphia.

Remember how unpopular the commissioner was when he decided to end the 2002 All-Star Game in an 11-inning tie? Calling this would have been like doubling down.

If nothing else, credit the commissioner with understanding at least that much. He said if the game had to be called after 5½ innings, instead of a suspension, he would have ruled it a rain delay, forcing both teams to hang around the ballpark until who-knows-when.

"It's my judgment. I have to use my judgment," Selig said. "It's not a way to end the World Series. I have enough authority, frankly, that I'm not only on solid ground, I'm on very solid ground."

Asked what he would have done if the decision were left to him, Rays manager Joe Maddon said wisely, "I'm not going to go there. ... Believe me, one way or another, I wouldn't be sitting here crying tonight.

"Everybody has a job to do. Everybody's done their job. That's how I see it."

Selig's job is to decide when play will be resumed. He didn't have a ready answer.

"When I believe that weather conditions are appropriate," he began.

"And as I've told everybody tonight after the game," he added, "while we're at time of year where ideal conditions don't always exist, we're going to be very sensitive and thorough and at least make sure we don't have a situation like we had."

That begs two questions.

First, why wasn't he "sensitive and thorough" before starting play Monday, instead of after? Second, when will Selig grow enough of a spine to a.) shorten the regular season, so the World Series doesn't brush up against November, when the weather is always dicey up north; or b.) start some postseason games in the daytime, making weather less of a factor?

The answer to both is the same: money.

On Saturday night, when another steady downpour delayed the start of the game until 10:06 p.m., Selig was asked how much of a role network partner Fox played in the decision.

"Not much," he replied.

If you believe that, you might be interested in some soggy bats and balls available soon at a souvenir store near you. Game 3 turned out to be a zany back-and-forth affair that deserved an audience, but instead drew the smallest in World Series history, largely because it stretched until 1:47 a.m.

The one thing Selig did was promise the World Series won't leave Philadelphia until Game 5 is finished. Going to back to Tampa's domed stadium for three games instead of two is not an option.

"We'll stay here," he said, in a rare moment of conviction, "if we have to celebrate Thanksgiving here."

Jim Litke is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to him at jlitke@ap.org