Even if you are not a sports fan, you have to appreciate this one.

The all-star, swagger-soaked U.S. baseball team—our game, our field, our mythology—lost 3–2 to Venezuela on Tuesday night in Miami, a city with one of the largest Venezuelan populations in the United States.

Let’s not dance around it.

We have spent years meddling, pressuring, intervening, pick your preferred diplomatic euphemism, in Venezuela and then they show up and beat us at our own national pastime.

Clean. Clinical. No commentary required.

There’s a certain poetic efficiency for Venezuela. This is a victory that means so much after recent turmoil faced by the country with Agent Orange using military force to remove the Venezuelan president in early January.

We export influence.

They export a ninth-inning double giving Venezuela the go-ahead run in an electric triumph over the titanic Team USA in the World Baseball Classic championship game.

We write the rules.

They rewrite the ending.

It’s a reminder that the world not only watches, it learns. And occasionally, it keeps score.

Also, let’s all take a breath because if this had been Cuba, we would not be laughing.

We would be forming a committee.

As the World Turns.