Well, that was easy.

Can we say such a thing, and can we say it so offhandedly? We Chicagoans, the very definition of huddled masses? One moment we're working on a 46-year case of dry mouth, and the next we invent water. I don't think we can nonchalant that if we tried.

What happened here Sunday night was almost too easy, as if somebody had forgotten to lock a door. The White Sox ambled into a World Series berth, looked around, liked what they saw, partied like there was no tomorrow (because there is a tomorrow) and waited for the other guests to show up.

It's either Sox-Astros or Sox-Cardinals in the Fall Classic. We're told America won't care about such a B-list matchup. We tell America we couldn't care less what it thinks.

The Sox beat the Angels 6-3 to wrap up the American League Championship Series in five games. Nobody said it was going to be easy.

Damned if it wasn't.

With a steady rain falling, Paul Konerko fielded a hard grounder by Casey Kotchman, stepped on first and ushered in a new day. For the first time since 1959, the White Sox are going to the World Series.

Hard to act like you've been there before when it's been so long. So nobody tried.

In the top of the ninth, when much of the craziness had already transpired, after umpires had added their predictable charms to the evening and managers had finished with their squawking, a chant started slowly and quietly in enemy territory and then spread like a small uprising.

"Paul-ie, Paul-ie" the voices said. Maybe 100 of them. Maybe more. Hard to tell.

And then Konerko ripped a double to the wall to drive in Tadahito Iguchi, making it 5-3 for some breathing room.

Then those voices rose up again amid the silence at Angel Stadium, and it was very, very easy on the ears. By the end of the game, they were singing "Na Na, Hey Hey, Goodbye" with gusto. An hour after the game, they were chanting the name of Sox Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf. You want to talk about a bizarre, surreal scene.

The players? They partied like it was 1959.

Konerko was named the ALCS' most valuable player, and he deserved it. But he thought four straight complete games by Mark Buehrle, Jon Garland, Freddy Garcia and Jose Contreras should have counted for something. It did. A World Series invitation.

"I'd like to split this four ways among our pitchers," Konerko said. "They're the horses. I was just along for the ride. Really, we all were."

There was the predictable strange moment Sunday night in a strange series that already had produced the infamous dropped-third-strike call. In the eighth inning, Kelvim Escobar-who else? - tried to tag out A.J. Pierzynski - who else? - with his glove while the ball was in his other hand. First-base umpire Randy Marsh initially called Pierzynski out, but after some arguing and conferring, Pierzynski was awarded first base.

And then the inevitable happened. Joe Crede hit a chopper up the middle, scoring Aaron Rowand to make it 4-3. You knew it was coming, I knew it was coming and a crowd of 44,712 knew it was coming. Inevitable.

"I'm innocent!" Pierzynski said later.

Pierzynski was the Sox player who raced to first on what was ruled a dropped third strike by plate ump Doug Eddings in Game 2, and Escobar was on the mound. Strange but, oh, so true.

Sometimes this series felt like a series of labor pains, mostly because of the umpiring. But trust us, the Sox were feeling no pain Sunday night and deep into Monday morning.

Taken as a whole, though, this has been one smooth, easy ride. The Sox have won 12 of their last 13 games-five in a row to end the regular season, three in a row against the defending World Series champion Red Sox in a division playoff series and four of five against the Angels.

Hold the air-raid siren. The Sox have bigger aspirations, and they should. They're good enough to win the whole thing. Are you allowed to say that when you wouldn't know the inside of a World Series if you bumped into it?

Of course you are. You can say anything. It's your year.

"We proved a lot of people wrong," manager Ozzie Guillen said. "And I think I like that."

Rick Morrissey is a sports columnist for the Chicago Tribune.