by Gregg Pearlman
Still Saturday, October 7, 2000
Continuing....
In Game 1, Derek Bell sprained an ankle trying to get to Bonds' triple. In Game 2, Shawn Estes sprained an ankle by not sliding into second. And, as Dan M. points out, he "walks off the base to get tagged out! This is not good, man, this is not good."
"I simply cannot believe what I saw," says Seth. "Not only did Estes not slide into second to beat the force play, he rolled his left ankle over on the base, then he hobbled off the bag in obvious pain without calling time first, and got tagged out! And this kid got a scholarship offer from Stanford? Sometimes I think he's got nothing but rocks in his head, and not the shiny kind."
The Giants got great relief out of Kirk Rueter, though. The Snow homer picked us up a lot, but then came the Bonds call. Tom is the one who first pointed out to me that Bonds couldn't have done much with the pitch, and I agree, but Tom also says, "Well, he coulda fouled it off Richie Ashburn-style. But c'mon, that's a completely different swing. If you swing like Richie Ashburn, you'll hit like him."
Many -- not me, particularly -- would say, "What's wrong with that?"
"Well, I wouldn't mind being able to hit like Ashburn in the majors. But the man had no power. It would be nice if a hitter like Barry could, in the space of oh, a millionth of a second, go 'Gee, that looks like a borderline strike that I can't do anything with. Time to put away the 'win the game for the Giants' swing and pull out the 'chip-shot that sucker into the Mets dugout' cricket-swing it would take to foul that one off. Franco made a great pitch. It was very close to being a strike.
"No way is this series over. It's going five games, and that fifth game is going down to the ninth inning still in doubt. Brace yourselves, Giant fans. Lots of ball left to play. Watch Barry go deep twice on Saturday."
Well, let's make it Sunday, as Bonds hasn't gone deep today. Either way, if Ton's wrong about the overall result, he'll have burn the Giants shirt that he wore over here on Thursday.
"Well, I stuffed it in the tailpipe all the way home to punish it," he says. "Stupid Giants shirt. No hits at all in that thing.
I just tossed mine on the gas grill till the neighbors complained.
Tobias says, "No way was that a strike. Strike two was a strike, but that last pitch certainly was not. Should Bonds have taken it? Probably not, especially given how horrible the plate umpiring has been in both games.
"By the way, I thought the 'controversial' 3-2 pitch that Bonds took just before tripling was definitely a strike. And the media spent the entire day whining about it today."
I don't know. Neither pitch had to be a strike.
"Even though Livan, in my opinion, had lots more borderline pitches not called strikes than Hampton did. The difference is that Livan found a way to pitch through Kellogg's flaky calls. Hampton didn't. As Piazza correctly said, 'that's part of the game.'"
Screw Piazza, because he singled to lead it off.
Of course, I should own up. Just before the strike-three pitch to Bonds, I told Tom, "You don't even want to know what I'm visualizing right now." Granted, I didn't visualize exactly what happened -- I pictured him taking a BP fastball right down Broadway.
"If that pitch by Franco was a strike, it was a damn good pitch," says Tubby. I know the TV angle is a little off, but that curveball had me bailing out on my sofa."
"I spooled up the tape of the Bonds at-bat and ran it over, every pitch, four times, using frame-by-frame views," says Rob. "It was a classic match up of veteran ballplayers with a game on the line. Franco threw Barry all fastballs, three of them cutters away, all between 86 and 88 mph. At 3-1, the agonizing over the change-up began, first on the mound in the mind of Franco about when to throw it, and in the mind of Bonds, knowing that he hadn't thrown it yet. The guy has made millions of dollars off that pitch and his screwball, and all he's throwing is fastballs. Fox did a great job on the lead-up to the strikeout pitch with the split screen of the faces of Bonds and Franco. According to Franco, Piazza put down the sign for another fastball; you see a full face shot of Franco staring the catcher into another sign, while on the other side of the screen, Bonds is in mental agony. His face says he knows what is coming and there is nothing he can do about it, because it might be another fastball or maybe the screwball, his other bread-and-butter pitch. According to the Fox radar gun the pitch was 82 -- Franco said it was a change -- and it was way, way off the plate. The camera angle from center field gives a distorted angle that actually favors the umpire on that side of the plate. Stop the tape when the ball gets to Bonds and you'll see that the ball looks to be four inches or so off, meaning that it was probably eight inches off when it crossed the plate. Franco turned the pitch over a bit so it had some down-and-away break, and Piazza did a great job of framing it for the umpire, who obviously called the pitch based upon the final position of the goddamned glove. One of the ugliest game-ending punchouts this fan has seen, and I've been watching postseason baseball for 45 years. Giants didn't deserve to win that game, however: they played too poorly in other phases of the game. I plan to use that AB, and the Hambone/Payton at-bats vs. Felix, as instructional components for my high school team. The Bonds-Franco confrontation, even though it ended negatively for Our Boys, was a classic postseason moment."
"I'm a pretty lousy player, but I still slid into second hard to break up a double play with my team down 10 runs," says Ken K. "In a flippin' major league playoff game, Estes forgets to slide and then comes off the base once, gets back to the bag and them stumbles off again making no attempt to stay near the bag at all.
"I was hoping he had broken his ankle. Why? This guy cannot pitch under pressure. Game 2 in 1997, blows up. Final game at Candlestick, blows up. B-team game on September 23: five-pitch walk, four-pitch walk, three-run homer. Yesterday... hit batsman (okay, I can excuse that) followed by a four-pitch walk where no pitch was within a foot of being a strike. With just a sprain, Estes could come back to haunt us in the LCS or World Series if his blunders yesterday don't stop us from getting past the Mets. I want him traded next year while his value is still high -- $20 million arm, 10-cent brain.
"Other hall of shame inductees:
"With the pitcher's spot leading off the tenth, I think Dusty was correct to stay with Rodriguez. In hindsight, of course, we should have walked Payton to get to Bordick, but Bordick is a tough little hitter himself. If he ropes a double to score two, people would say we should pitch to Payton. I almost broke my hand slamming the coffee table after Hamilton scored.
"Last pitch? Nasty, nasty curveball for strike 3. No way Bonds should swing at that pitch. He wouldn't have come near it.
"I also want Steve Lyons killed. "Did anyone catch his pre-game comment about Candlestick fans being the worst in MLB?"
I didn't, because I won't listen to the Fox announcers, but while it isn't important to me that Lyons be killed, I do think very, very little of him. I consider him unlistenable: unprofessional, patronizing, pseudo-hip, and just plain obnoxious. This is not a broadcaster -- just an ex-player with a big mouth and an unpleasant voice.
"I've been to Pac Bell a few times, and the fans at Candlestick were more knowledgeable and made a lot more noise than the Pac Bell fans. The fans are just a lot closer at Pac Bell, so they probably sound louder to the players and media."
Who cares why Lyons said it? The fact is, it's a moronic statement, and thus totally typical. To be fair, since I didn't actually hear Lyons say it, I really can't comment on it... but I trust him to have been a doof. Again.
Kent takes strike one. And strike two. A couple of very hittable pitches -- looked like nothing fastballs. And now strike three. Unbelievable. That was a strike, no mistake about it, but it was also just about the worst at-bat Kent has ever had in his life.
Burks takes strike one. Ball one. Called strike two. Why won't we swing the damn bat? Sure -- swing now: strike three. Fifteen Giants have gone down on strikes, including the last five (i.e., the last five who got out).
Snow, preparing to strike out, takes strike one. We're making it so easy on them. Bonds still won't run, but now it would probably not be such a great idea. Ball one to Snow. Ball two, just high. Now it's 3-1. And now he swings at a pitch at his ankles, so the count is full... meaning, at least (or at most), that Bonds will be running on the next pitch. Whee. Ball four.
And... joy of joys! Doug Mirabelli's batting. Oh, sure, I trust you, Doug! Strike one. Now a fly ball to right. Side retired. This is ludicrous. The Giants have to have left 356 runners on base today.
The bottom of the inning begins with Calvin Murray in center, Benard in right, and... Aaron Fultz on the mound. Not encouraging. He and Miguel Del Toro are the guys you want to rest throughout the postseason -- or, if they pitch at all, it's in a blowout, especially one that you're losing.
At least he gets a first-pitch ground out. Still here comes Timo Perez. Ball one. Strike one. Little grounder to second... Kent gets him. Now here's Alfonzo... and we may as well put him on, even with nobody on base, you know? Possibly thinking along with me, Fultz throws ball one. Now a sharp single up the middle. Of course.
McEwing takes ball one. Then ball two. Two outs, and he starts trying to put everybody on base. Strike one, but... whoopee. It's not like this guy can't hit one hard somewhere. Called strike two. And now a ground ball in the hole at short. Martinez, evidently convinced he can't get McEwing at first, throws to second... too late... but Alfonzo does an Estes. He doesn't really slide, and he comes off the bag and is tagged out.
So there will be a thirteenth inning.
I'm now pausing the VCR during the commercials -- I'm about half an hour away from running out of tape.
Murray takes strike one, then strike two. Of the great many ways in which he should emulate Jeff Kent, this isn't one of them. But -- yay -- he takes ball one. Now it's a called strike three. One away. Nice at-bat, Cal. Randy Johnson must have had a four-digit body temperature.
Now we discover that Miguel Del Toro is the guy we're gonna pin our hopes on, as Martinez takes a strike. Then a ball. Now a palpably inside strike. And another ball. And yet another, just low. Just low. Not a strike, though. Now a base hit to center, which brings up Benard.
He checks a swing, but goes around on a rotten pitch. Strike one. Now he fouls one off. Ball one. And strike three, for the fourth time. We just won't hit this guy. It's preposterous. And for the billionth time, here comes Bill Mueller with two outs and Bonds on deck.
Strike one. Ball one, just missing. Now he checks a swing... and gets the call somehow. What he did with his bat looked a lot like what catchers do to frame borderline pitches. Now, amazingly, the 2-1 pitch is poked into left field for a hit...
... and up comes Bonds. I have to think Valentine will bring in Glendon Rusch, the lefty... but he's not doing that. Bonds stands in... and pops out to second. This is just beyond belief.
And even before they broke for commercial, my brother-in-law, Bill, called to say, "Why do they call this guy 'great'?"
Ventura starts the bottom of the inning by taking ball one, then ball two. He hits a grounder in the hole between first and second. Kent dives... he's got it. He's up and throwing to first, and Ventura's out by 15 feet.
Agbayani takes a ball. Now he hits it out, and I'm rewinding the tape to use tomorrow.
I thought Thursday was tough.
My sister Deb just called and said "It's my fault."
I had no doubt of this.
"Just terrible. As soon as I saw that Agbayani was 0-for-5, and 2-for-10 in the series, I knew it was over. This is the worst."
Well, as I always say when the Giants reach the postseason, if they don't go all the way now, they never will. The good news is that since I started saying that, they've at least reached the postseason more often. Huzzah for me.
And you know, I'd like to blame the umpires for some rotten ball-and-strike calls, but they didn't lose the game. Barry Bonds, again, refused to hit when he needed to, and basically so did everyone else in orange and black. The pitching was just ducky. Mostly.
"It looked to me like Rios thought that it was a single through the hole and he was going to try to score," says Tubby. "He was watching the ball as he was running to third and when Bordick picked it up you could just [see Rios] thinking "OH NO!" It's no excuse, but I don't think he took off running to third because he's just plain stupid, he just didn't think that Bordick was playing where he was. Was anybody here at the game? Did Bordick shift just before the pitch or anything?"
"It doesn't matter what the shortstop does or doesn't do," says Rob. "On a ball hit to your right, you freeze your secondary lead and read the situation. He probably forgot he wasn't forced to run."
"If Rios holds second, chances are the Mets walk Bonds to pitch to Kent," says Tobias. "As much as I love Bonds, I'd have preferred Kent at the plate in that situation."
You think so? I think the lefty would've pitched to Bonds regardless, and that there would've been no net difference.
"I do think so. And okay, sure, it's just a gut feeling. But I think with first base open, Valentine might've put Bonds on and gone after Kent. I definitely would rather have Kent vs. Franco in that situation than Bonds vs. Franco. 'Course if I would rather have that matchup, maybe Bobby would've too. And, it's true, walking Bonds would've put the winning run on base."
"Valentine wouldn't let Franco pitch to Kent in that situation, in my opinion," says Rob. "Kent would face Wendell and his slider-change." "You know, I've been thinking about this some more, and have come to realize that I'm... well, I'm just flat-out wrong on this one," says Tobias. "Had Rios held second, Franco still more than likely would've faced Bonds. And chances are Bonds would've struck out just the same. And even if Franco had pitched Bonds just a little more carefully, with first base open, and ended up walking Bonds, Wendell would've come in to face Kent (as Rob points out). Now, I will say I like the idea of Kent vs. Wendell just a little bit better than I like Bonds vs. Franco, given the situation, but now I'm grasping at straws. In fact, in hindsight, Rios' blunder, while stupid, probably wasn't all that damaging."
Still, we seem to be fairly high in the Baserunning Blunder Department.
Paul L. says, "Nothing made me cringe more than seeing Kent's headfirst slides into first both Wednesday and [Thursday]. Hasn't Kenny Lofton taught him that that's a really easy way to get injured? It's obviously not faster; the only advantage is that if the throw is off-line you can avoid the tag. Since that wasn't the case, he was just needlessly risking getting himself hurt."
The only thing I can think of is that maybe, somehow, Kent figures that falling forwards helps you touch the bag with your hand faster than staying upright and touching it with your feet.
"The Giants are a very impressive team and I would rather not lose to them, but I would not really mind it either [if they won].
"I like Dusty Baker and the Giant pitchers are great. Last night with both Leiter and Rueter, I got the feeling that they could and did throw the ball where ever they wanted to.
"Good luck to the Giants the rest of the way! Obviously I want the Mets to win, but I just wanted to let you all know that not all Mets fans are trollers and jerks.
"At least one thing we both can agree on is that the Braves must lose!"
Well, Mike's willing to be a lot more gracious than I'm feeling right now. Hate the Mets. Hate Benny Agbayani. Am really really pissed at Barry Bonds.
"It's Rule 1 for the pessimist fan," says Dan L: "Assume the Giants will lose the series -- that way you're not heartbroken if they do. Conversely, you're pleasantly surprised if they do win."
No, see, the Rule One of being a Giants fan is, assume they'll lose the series and, when they do, you're still heartbroken.
"This is key," says Gunman. Giants fans understand what the Germans call Weltschmertz. The literal translation is 'World-pain,' but think of it more as a cartoon of the globe, with two arms and two legs and two beady little eyes, pistol-whipping you, but with a lot of elan and some really amusing wisecracks. It almost would be funny (in a sick way) if it were kicking someone else's ass, but it's kicking yours, in front of God and everybody. And it's a cartoon, fer Chrissakes, and you're real.
"In short, being a Giants fan is exactly like living your life."
Well, it's exactly like living my life, anyhow.
"Hey, it's the only way I know," says Jack V. "Seriously, I go back to 1978, and I can't understand how anyone who has followed this team for any extended period of time can't always expect disaster to strike. Since that '78 season, every year has ended leaving me disappointed in some way. Not until -- and only not until -- the Giants win the whole enchilada will I stop feeling this way."
"If the Giants end up losing the series, I think Game 2 may end up being remembered even more painfully than the Candy Maldonado game in the '87 NLCS, or the Atlee/Jim Lindeman blown lead game of the '87 NLCS," says Tobias. "Let's hope the Giants do come back strong and win the Series in four games, and I do think that is very possible."
Well, it ain't gonna happen in four. There is no Monday.
Greg L. disagrees with Tobias. "You're talking severe, in the hospital pain there. Good things actually happened in Game 2 of this series."
"Well, I suppose pain is in the butt of the beholder, or the be-sitter, or whatever," says Tobias. "And you're right, there were some exhilarating things that happened in Thursday night's game, topped off, of course, by J.T.'s home run, which, when evaluated outside the context of how the game turned out, could arguably be called the single most purely thrilling moment in San Francisco Giants postseason history. But some good things happened in the Atlee/Jim Lindeman game, too. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been a nice lead for Atlee to blow. Also, Dravecky pitched wonderfully in the 'Candy's Adventures in Outfielding' game.
"All I really know is, I've never felt so low after any Giants loss as I did after Thursday night's game. It gutted me and left me with a blank stare. It left me despairing that I had to be born a Giants fan.
"Maybe the key is expectations. I really didn't expect much in '87. I thought St. Louis had the better team going into that series. In retrospect, I may have been wrong. But the point is, my expectations weren't shattered in '87. This year, I expect a lot more. And when J.T. hit the homer, I was sure like I've never been before that the Giants would win that game. I fell a long way Thursday night."
Jayson says, "Okay, Giants 'fans' in this newsgroup, I can't believe you think the Giants are finished after blowing tonight's game. So what if the Giants have to go back to NYC? It's far from over, people. This is why we long-time Giant fans sort hate you bandwagon jumpers... damn! I say they will split... and come back and win it at Pac Bell on Monday."
"Most of the people who are feeling let down and dismal about our chances are not the fans you want to be calling 'bandwagon jumpers,'" says Amy. "We are the ones who have watched this team scrape bottom for years upon years and have been conditioned to not get our hopes up. For one thing, being positive seems to incur the wrath of the Baseball Gods, who already have something against our Giants. For another, it's simply easier to be negative and be surprised (as I was when J.T. hit the home run. I was so sure he was going to strike out) than it is to be positive and let down."
"Thank you Amy!" says Jack. "Could not have said it any better. I am many things; a bandwagon jumper I am not. The reason a lot of us are negative is because we have so much to draw back upon. Do you remember the mid '80s? Those were the days. Man, how I long for that Oliver-Trillo-LeMaster-O'Malley infield. How about this: Does the name Jose Oquendo mean anything to you? How about Salomon Torres? How about winning 103 games and only having memories to show for it? Remember the days of Shawn Barton, Sergio Valdes, Dax Jones, and Steven Mintz? Who can forget Devon White? How about Gary Gaetti, Steve Trachsel, and Matt Mieske? Look, the Giants have provided me with a ton of spine-tingling moments over the last 22 years. But the emptiness and disappointment outweigh the great moments.
"If anything, I care too much about the Giants. Last night I was devastated. I had a pit in my stomach. I was despondent. It took about two hours before I could even talk to my wife (a fact I'm not really proud of, but still). Call me a moron, call me a jerk, call me a jackass, whatever. But don't ever dare to say I'm not a true fan. I'll put my knowledge, love, and passion for this team up against just about anyone's. I have years of emotion invested in this franchise. As Richard said in last year's postmortem: 'After all these years, the Giants owe us more than this.'"
And I wish I could add something to that, but Jack summed up perfectly how I feel. Being a Giants fan is hard.
"The crowd had been silent most of the night. I guess we've been spoiled, with so many leads, and so many games won at the Bell, that the fans never really got into it, as Lefty Leiter dominated our batsmen. But the top of the ninth proved hopeful. He had thrown 120 pitches... Bonds, Kent, Burks were up -- perhaps three of the top 10 batters in the entire NL... we had to score... we would score.
"'Up!' I screamed, waving my hands upward, so the fans around me in our section next to McCovey Cove would react. The Giants would be back. I knew it... we had three entire outs to go.
"I had had a screaming headache for the past three innings... dehydration, cold... the top of the ninth, and that two-run homer... but I knew the Giants could do it.
"I screamed at Leiter, as if he could hear me, 250 feet away. And my prayers were answered. Bonds lashed a double into the gap, and suddenly the audience around me I had tried to rouse 30 seconds earlier was on its feet screaming. I knew, then, we believed. We had seen what Kent and Burks have done all season... we knew....
"Leiter was leaving. I knew Valentine had left him in to face Bonds, and then with the double and the righties coming up, was going with Benitez. But we had seen him warming up right in front of us, Armando, and we knew how effective he was, but we also knew that the Giants have gotten to him before. And this was Kent and Burks, the kings of the lineup.
"Kent fought off his pitches, the radar gun hovered... 94... 96... 97... 96... and Kent grounded to short. My heart fell, but I saw that it was close. Kent, the battler, would tough it out, and make it... and he slid... head first... the throw ... the slide... the call... SAFE! I was frenetic... we made it... We could do it.
"I knew Burks would be the hero again, much as he was when I watched them clinch two weeks earlier. But, oh, that was another lifetime. Ellis was there, now, in the present, and he would do what he's done so well... what the Giants have done so well... all game against Leiter... pop out. A short fly ball to medium center. My heart fell... then rose... only one out. And J.T. was coming in. J.T., who missed 20 homers this season, the only member of the five Giants who hit 20 last season to miss this season. But I knew he had power... he always has. He could do it....
"j.t.... j.t.... J.t.... J.t.... J.T.... J.T.... J.T.... J.T.... J.T.... through my headache, I chanted, I knew if I kept all my concentration on it, if those around me all supported him ... the crowd, chanting... J.T.... J.T.... J.T.... J.T....
"It was like a dream... The ball bounced off his bat... the ninth inning that had been so clear up to this point became fuzzy for a moment. I heard the crowd roar around me... the ball, I thought... It had the right trajectory... It could go out. Could it be? I jumped out of my stupor, cheering, watching... the ball seemed special, it went higher, and higher, then started coming down, and as it did it grew larger, and larger... the stadium stopped... the roaring disappeared, as the ball grew to the size of a basketball, and it fell down, before me... arm's length... five feet away... it dropped... INTO THE STANDS... OUT OF THE PARK! IT MADE IT!
"I saw it hit, the two neighbors to my left had their hands around it, but the ball missed their hands, bounced off the green metal between their groping fingers, and onto the field... the outfielder picked it up and threw it in. For a moment, doubt crossed my mind, as I thought it might have been ruled a double, and in fair ground, but I looked up, and logic prevailed as everyone knew it was a home run, a three-run homer... the one that would send us home tonight victorious.
"But aaahhh... the bitterness. You all know the rest of the story, as Armando collected himself, and retired the side, and Felix gave up the double... the one to Darryl, and my heart sank as they scored another run. But we didn't, none of the fans did believe that the Giants could lose this game, and Rios started off the tenth with a hit. We would just have to get him over, and score. But alas, Marvin moved him over, but he ran funny on Billy's hit, and I couldn't understand it... but only Billy was left with two outs, and Bonds at bat. The crowd screamed for the home run. A man next to me had a running conversation with Timo Perez... the one who picked up and threw in J.T.'s beautiful ball, he told him repeatedly that the ball was going into the Bay... Perez laughed at him.
"But, oh, could it? The fans around me screamed at Bonds to swing... I remembered his words from before the playoffs. Stay within yourself, Barry, I thought. Don't swing at balls, just wait for your strike... and strike two called. Come on, ump! Barry wouldn't watch a strike fly past, it had to be a ball. Just you wait, Barry will pull it out... strike three called....
"The only thing that remains is disbelief and despair."
And Arvin still hadn't experienced today yet.
"Being a Giants fan is like living constantly on the edge of a panic attack," says Steve P. "The years when they've been lousy have been much easier on my constitution."
Can you think of any Series you'd less rather watch than a Subway Series (aside from a Freeway Series, I mean)?
"I'd watch it -- I always do -- "but with little interest and total ambivalence," says Rob.
I'd actively boycott it.
"Indeed, an electron has a 'wave function' -- it's less like a hard, indivisible particle than like a series of ripples on a pond. The ripples indicate where a single electron is statistically likely to materialize at any given moment. (It's sort of like the gopher in the movie "Caddyshack" that momentarily pops its head up at the golf course, then a moment later pops up somewhere else, and so on.)"
So, just in case the "ripples on a pond" simile was too complex for you, there's a reference to a animated rodent in a sophomoric movie comedy. Now all you have to do is move your finger along the line, sound out the letters and try not to let the drool roll down your chin. Science for Dummies is one thing; the ChronEx brings us Science by Dummies. I think I may be off track here somewhat, but it's that standard of brain-dead, inept writing that leads to idiotic phrases about "Palm-toting, cell-phone-yakking dot-commers." Yeah, there are folks using cell phones. That's on account of it now being the year 2000. San Francisco wise men discover the secret of Cell phones. We'll trade it for Ceremonial Burial and Chivalry and then all we need is for Prometheus to hurry up with the goddamn fire and we're set. A cell phones costs $20 a month, folks.
[Ben points to the article featuring the following prose:
"But this game was played at Pacific Bell Park, where you're lucky to get 10,000 baseball fans at any given time. The rest are there for the experience, and they amused themselves in various ways, chasing beach-ball-sized balloons around the park, waving those silly towels, waiting for the scoreboard to tell them, 'Make some noise.' You'd have thought it was Los Angeles, for heaven's sake.
"So, it didn't intrude on the spectators' fun when Edgardo Alfonzo hit a two-run homer in the top of the ninth that seemed to provide the insurance runs the Mets needed." -- GP]
I hope Glenn Dickey dies of a nasty disease.
The Pac Bell fans gave everything to that game. We howled our throats raw and stood and cheered our team on with ever fiber of our being. We experienced a moment of transcendent ecstasy when J.T.'s hit went fair and fell to the depths of despair when Payton's hit dropped. We went through four and half hours of a roller-coaster of emotion and we gave everything we had as fans, every last drop. We had nothing left. Then this pig-ignorant, troll-bearded ignorant prick has the temerity to sniff with hauteur and pass smug judgment about who the "real fans" are. This talentless nonentity is a DH advocate (for reasons that he doesn't understand very well) and he thinks he can lecture people on who "real fans" are?
No one needed to read this this morning. The folks who camped out to buy tickets, the fans who have spent a season living and dying with our team, the people who have made Pac Bell Park what it is and who are sparking the postseason electricity in this town -- we don't need to take this misinformed, spiteful ignorance from a no-account college football reporter who has no business writing about major league baseball.
Last night was painful, but it was fair -- we lost a game and it hurt the way a heartbreaking loss does. What's not fair is being stabbed in the back by our local newsmen.
"Well put," says Grant. "I saw that Dickey had an article about last night's game on prosportspage.com, and I made a point not to read it. He has nothing to add about anything. I wouldn't ask his advice if I were writing a book on him. He's absolutely repugnant. He relies on hindsight, spite, and limp sensationalism. His writing isn't profound, it isn't witty, it isn't interesting, and he can't stop inserting his own grizzled self into his columns.
"Say what you will about Ray Ratto's opinions, but the dude's a hell of a writer. I can't remember the last time I agreed with Bruce Jenkins, or his Saturday Column of Ellipsis-Sprinkled Crap, but he's at least interesting and occasionally clever. Dickey has no talent. None. How the guy isn't stuck with editing funeral notices for the Benicia Bugle is beyond me. He can't write, though you'd think that would be a prerequisite for the job. I grew up reading him, and I'm amazed my brain hasn't turned into vapor and leaked out through my nose.
"Go away, Dickey."
Meanwhile, in case you were wondering about Ben's ski-lodge reference, Grant points us to a sportsline.com article that suggests, "Junk Bonds in the postseason."
This is the checkout point for me.
"No no!" insists Grant. "Notice the pun! Cracklin' wit is poised to follow!"
No, see, the pun is the reason to check out.
The article continues: "It's no secret that Barry Bonds is to October as snow is to a ski lodge -- cold. If he weren't so doggone unlikable, it would be almost painful to watch. In three League Championship Series, Bonds has batted .167 (1990), .148 (1991) and .261 (1993)."
Grant says:
[Now, wait a minute. That's unfare. I would say more, but I going go wach Weel! Of! Forchin! Then the Charles in Charge marathon. And eat a Pop Tart.
Ken K. says, "The episodes with Gwendolyn Pierce or the new ones with the chick that later showed up on Baywatch? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!"
Trust me: I don't know what he's talking about. -- GP]
Terrible writing. "As snow is to a ski lodge"? Gag me with a spoon.
[Worse yet: It's not at all difficult to envision the writer sitting there for, like, 20 minutes, going, "... what Catherine Zeta-Jones is to blondes: Welsh... no, that's not it... um... what tungsten is to the gnat-taxidermy industry: embolic... no... wait: ... what cows are to the gnat-taxidermy in -- naw... different direction...."
"The toughest part about gnat-taxidermy is trying to stuff them in attacking position to impress the hunter's friends," says Grant. "In reality, most people probably knock them off while they're sleeping, the cowards."
There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded gnat. -- GP]
"Sportsline.com is the worst sports site in a sea of bad ones. The sad thing is, it's not really close."
Meanwhile, Bruce Jenkins writes, "Jeff Kent is the MVP of the Giants' clubhouse. There is a call for perspective at game's end, good times and bad, and Kent steps right to the front. Last night he thought about the incredible turn of events at Pacific Bell Park, and he just had to smile.
[...]
"The players are under no obligation to offer perspective or anything else at a time like this. It's just a bunch of writers and broadcast crews; who the hell cares? Barry Bonds certainly didn't, saying 'Not tonight, dude,' as a quick feeler came his way. After an episode that brought his grim postseason history back into focus --called strike three to end the game -- Bonds wandered about with a bitter look on his face.
"That's why Kent owns the clubhouse. He owns it not because he appeases the media, but because he speaks for the team."
"In other words, because he appeases the media," says Jonathan. "Because what they're really there to do is to make reporters' jobs easy, and so the guy who does that best must be the guy the rest of the players appreciate the most. Nothing against Quotron, but Jenkins is a jerk."
"I'm not necessarily disagreeing with your point about Jenkins, and I thought it was cheap that he went out of his way to point out that Bonds wouldn't talk to him," says Tobias. "But I thought Jenkins did make a good point about how an attitude like Kent's, after a tough loss helps give the team a boost."
"Classic Jenkins," says Jack V., "in that the underlying theme is that aesthetics, intangibles, and subtleties are better than bottom line results. Yes, it was a great game, but it pissed me off that the Giants lost the game. I don't expect Jenkins to write a column that makes you want to commit suicide after reading, but the fact that Jeff Kent faced the media and shrugged off the loss is not a beautiful thing, at least not as far as I'm concerned."
Meanwhile, Ben's not the only newsgroup member to complain about Jeff Pearlman. Steve P. tells me, "I just find it unfortunate that you have to see a lot of 'Pearlman is an asshole' type of postings."
"Much appreciated. It's just nice knowing, though, that they're not all about me.
"We'll get to you later, Gregg," says Ben. "There are only so many hours in the day to keep track of Jeff's idiocies. Latest:
"'Best off the bench: Jose Vizcaino, Yankees. Vizcaino isn't a great pinch hitter or, for that matter, a dazzling fielder. But he cured the Chuck Knoblauch blues in New York by emerging as a steady late-inning sub for the wild-armed, Ryan Leaf-esque Chuckie.'
"So he's not completely inept, and that plus pinstripes makes him the best? Let's pick a bench guy we all know and love:
AVG RBI HR AB AB/HR AB/RBI SP OBP OPS
Vizcaino .253 14 0 267 n/a 19.1 .393 .333 .726
Rios .266 38 10 233 23.3 6.1 .502 .347 .849
"Rios drives in three times more runs than Vizcaino per at-bat and ... and ... oh, I'm preaching to the Magisterium.
"'Best player you've never heard of: Jeffrey Hammonds, Rockies. OK, people have heard of Jeffrey Hammonds. But do y'all know how good this dude is?'
"That's nice. Now go back and read the category name again.
"'Best quote: Tom Glavine, Braves. Well-thought-out comments and intelligent banter make him the king of a very quotable clubhouse.'
"Uh, Jeff, that isn't a quote, that's a person."
Steve says, "I just wandered over to the CNN/SI site and decided to see what this bozo had to say. Orlando Cepeda had some problems getting his wife into the press box and an argument ensued. Stupid misunderstanding, but Pearlman decides to write it up as his headline piece about yesterday's playoff game. What is wrong with this guy? Is his only goal to stir up trouble? Look, I still think John Rocker is a racist moron pig, but I could have blissfully gone on with my life remaining unaware of his views as written about by Pearlman. I still would have disliked him enough because of his on-field shtick."
This is what I think a lot of people miss about Rocker -- as in, "Oh, you just hate him 'cause of what some reporter says he said...." No, I've found his demeanor offensive from the start.
"Gregg's gotta do something about how he signs his posts until SI cans this worm."
I just sign 'em "Gregg."
To a post -- again about Jeff of CNN/SI... I swear -- titled, "Pearlman is a BIG FAT IDIOT!" my response is, "Am not! Are too! Am not!"
"You're so fat, you're plural," says JVV.
Are not!
Granted, you don't want to see this, but here are my notes from today's game:
I'm on the phone with David Beck from roughly the bottom of the seventh on. He is not watching -- he no longer watches professional sporting events, and I'm beginning to understand why. It's because, like me, he is addicted to his teams, and because, like me, they just won't win. They can't.
Now, tell me this isn't the Baseball Gods' doing: We're on the phone about 10 minutes, at which time I hear a click, then no Dave. I think, "Oh, he put me on hold or something, and I didn't hear him say he was going to because I was too busy moaning about the Giants." So I waited. Then I heard a call-waiting beep. Tentatively, I pressed the "Flash" button on my phone, fearing that that's when Dave would get back on, notice that I was no longer there, and hang up.
But no, it was Dave, calling me back. Somehow he'd been cut off. I joked that I wouldn't be surprised if we were both paying for the same call -- i.e., each "line" is occupied by us.
We got off the phone shortly after the last out. I hung up, then sat down at the computer. Then the phone rang. It was Dave. Same thing happened to him: last out, hang up, phone rings, it's me. So I have the feeling that indeed we each were paying for the same call at the same time. Talk about Rule One.
In 1971, when the Giants went down in four to the Pirates, I was disappointed, but figured, hey, we'll get 'em next time. I was 11, so I didn't know any better. In 1987, I simply never quite believed we won the division, because the precedent for such an event had been set so long ago and ignored ever since. As a result, I was disappointed that we lost to the Cards in seven, but not at all surprised or bitter. Again, naively, I honestly thought we could kick ass in '88... which -- thanks, Baseball Gods -- was the worst, most frustrating, most horrific season I can remember. In '89, well, it was fabulous that we won the pennant. Exhilarating. A thrill I'll never forget, no matter what. A moment of pure joy. And hell, we were never gonna beat the A's -- we all knew that. So it was disappointing, but the kind of disappointment you shrug off. We simply got trounced by a better team.
Next came 1993, and in my 1993 season journal I said I was "angry, bitter, disillusioned, railing against the unfairness of it all, but at the same time, I'm experiencing almost a calm." In '97, when we lost to the wild card, I certainly experienced all of that, except for the calm. And it's kind of like that this time, except that the anger is roughly raised to the power of a thousand. I am very sick of the fact that my team is just not allowed, by whatever forces run the cosmos, to win it all. I'm not mad at the Mets -- they played great (except for Piazza, who didn't do much, which is fine with me), and they played with the same kind of heart they showed last year, when they should've beaten the gutless Braves. (Sorry, Braves fans -- that's just how it looked to me, and this year pretty much bore that out.) The Mets-Cardinals LCS should be very exciting, and I'm sure I'll hear that it is. Won't be watching it, though. The 2000 baseball season is over. I don't think I can take any more baseball this year.
I'm mad at the Giants for simply failing, and at life for seeing that this would happen yet again. I know it's not rational, but then, who says feelings are supposed to be rational?
I've been thinking about this anyway, but after the 2000 Postmortem articles I plan to run late this month or early next month, I'm probably going to take a break from EEEEEE! for the rest of the year, and maybe into February, unless something major happens. Just too tired right now. I'll still be active in the Giants newsgroup, and though I love doing EEEEEE!, I need to focus on something else for a while (like a pair of book projects, one of which you might find hauntingly familiar if I ever get it finished). I'll be around, though. Feel free to write -- you know where to find me.
Last updated 10/8/00 Gregg Pearlman, gregg@EEEEEEgp.com