by Grant Brisbee
After
J.T. Snow hit a home run to tie Game 2 of the Division Series, it was over.
The Giants were a team of destiny. I was hugging someone whom I had never seen
before in my life and, to be honest, smelled like a warm circus. We were going
to go up two games to none, I liked our chances against the Cards, and we could
throttle anyone in the American League. Let's see, I'd start Livan in Game 1
of the Series, Ortiz in Game....
Thump.
Poof.
Thank you. Drive through.
That's it? That's fucking it? One hundred and sixty-two games I live and die with the team, I sneeze, and it's over?
Not fair.
This was their year. I have the I.Q. of a Mallomar when it comes to the Giants, I'll admit it. I'm still learning that they'll never win a championship. I thought they were going to take it all this year, and do it handily. I was 10 when the Giants won the division in '87, and all I vaguely remember is Jeffrey Leonard hitting a home run in the playoffs. I don't remember them losing, and I don't remember caring.
I was a bit older in '89, but I was happy with either team winning. I know, I know. If I had access to a time machine, I'd go back and kick myself in the ass.
And 1997? Just happy to be here, sit on that you Dodger pukes, not going to survive three playoff rounds, but wasn't that an amazing ride?
Not this season. This year was magic. I was fortunate enough to attend Spring Training in March. I came away from Scottsdale with four nuggets of wisdom:
After a month had passed, and the first two nuggets were proved to be bogus, I should have realized I had the prognosticative powers of Dionne Warwick after three bottles of absinthe. I didn't know that after my initial look at the 2000 Giants, though. I went to Las Vegas on the way back from Arizona, put $25 on the Giants to win it all, and $50 on them to win the National League title.
Had they won the World Series I would have been a thousand dollars richer. That's not all that would've happened. The price of gasoline? Cheaper than bathtub ginger ale. World peace? You bet, and with the proclamation delivered by a nude Cameron Diaz. Everyone should have been rooting for the Giants, because it would have been something.
It didn't happen, it's not going to happen, so indulge me in my whining. I entered this season as a doe-eyed, optimistic Giants fan. I left it a teary-eyed, optimistic Giants fan. I still think they have one hell of a team. I'll put their starting lineup, aging or not, up against anyone else's. What at the beginning of the season was the Outhouse or Penthouse? RotationTM showed signs of being the best young staff in baseball for years to come. The bullpen had some execrable moments, but was generally solid. I still think they're the best team in baseball.
This year's failure wasn't due to the disparity in payroll. It wasn't the heart of the Mets, nor the Giants' lack thereof. It was Timo Perez getting a two-out, two-run single, and Ramon Martinez getting a two-out single with nobody on. It was Jay Payton singling home someone who had just doubled with two outs, and Jeff Kent doubling to lead off an inning, only to be stranded. It was Mike Piazza making his outs with no one on base, and Barry Bonds making his outs with plenty of people on base. I don't want to call it luck, because that's not fair to the Mets. They played hard and deserved to win. They were fortunate, though, that their hits came when they were needed. The Giants weren't. Thank you. Drive through.
Again, I'm still learning that the Giants will never win a World Series. The lesson hasn't quite taken hold. I'll never learn how many kilograms go into a centimeter, because the metric system is for commie bastards, and I'll never accept that the Giants shall remain ringless. In fact, I think they'll win the World Series next year. Quite handily, mind you.
You can bet on it. Just don't earmark the grocery money for the purposes of gambling. And don't spend any of your retirement money. And if you had to choose between betting on the Giants and buying Raging Bull on DVD, go with Scorcese/DeNiro. If, however, you find a ten-dollar bill in the middle of a library book; go, go, go! That's the kind of optimism being a Giants fan affords you.