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Among the pressing concerns of the scattered and varied population of South Florida is just exactly where to hold the victory parade for the world-champion Marlins, an additional concern being that wherever it is, it not interfere with the early-bird special.

A funny thing happened on the way to the celebration–the Cleveland Indians, the team that refuses to pull its socks down or give its place up.

And now the Series that no one cares about gets a Game 7 to see if anyone will watch, kicking the NFL over until Monday.

The Bears and the Dolphins will have to linger another day. As if Dave Wannstedt hasn’t had enough problems, now he gets sideswiped by the sacrifice fly.

“I feel good about this,” Marlins manager Jim Leyland said. “Seven games in the World Series. There is nothing wrong with that. That’s the way it should be.”

It would not be if Cleveland pitcher Chad Ogea, from the league where pitchers don’t hit and who had not had a base hit since high school, hadn’t gotten two hits off Marlins ace Kevin Brown, driving in two runs in the Indians’ 4-1 victory Saturday night.

Maybe someone up there, up there also being Cleveland, is trying to tell South Florida that it has not suffered enough to be champion of the world.

Cleveland has no problem knowing where to revel. Public Square will teem if the Indians win. Tears will flow and joy will rule. Down here, they may still be arguing over whether Miami, Ft. Lauderdale or all the Palm Beaches gets to lead the applause.

This is an area not quite sure it had a baseball team until a month ago, so it can be excused for not knowing exactly where and how to clap.

The Florida Marlins are not only geographically overstated, but municipally ambiguous.

As Gertrude Stein once said about Oakland, “There is no there there,” there is plenty of here here. In fact, the problem is, it is everywhere.

Finding Main Street around here is harder than finding autumn.

Just whose team is this, anyhow?

Judging by flags displayed around Pro Player Stadium, it would seem to be more South America’s team than Florida’s, there being more Cuban flags than any other, but with impressive representation from Colombia, the Dominican Republic and Blockbuster.

A Series title is imagined to draw all of this together, to give all the diverse and incompatible elements of the area a shared distinction of excellence. Of course, we heard the same thing about Sarajevo during the ’84 Winter Olympics.

From the retiree in the white belt and black socks to the pool guy in the tank top and flip-flops to the mall shopper in curlers and sunblock, all the random and recent fans of baseball would have a common memory.

“Everybody goes to work happier,” Leyland said. “I think the bosses all around town feel they get better production, everybody is in good spirits, everybody is in a great frame of mind, everybody loves one another.”

Reports are that the Series has unified the separated Cubas, in any case, giving those in Cuba and those in the United States a shared hero in pitcher Livan Hernandez.

“Baseball is the magic making the connection between the Cubans in exile and the Cubans on the island,” Spanish-language broadcaster Manolo Alvarez said.

Not that it won’t do the same thing for Cleveland, but drawing together Chagrin Falls and Parma is not the same thing. And the Indians’ faithful have suffered together longer than South Floridians have known each other.

The Cleveland Free Clinic has set up a phone service to relieve stress caused by the Series, a Togetherness Hotline. It had received some 50 calls after the Indians lost two of three at home.

No such service is needed here. Stress in South Florida is no lime Jell-O at Morrison’s.