by Grant Brisbee
Can the Giants win it all? No. Wait, maybe.
It was as if Marlon Brando had turned in the best performance of his career for Kickboxer IV: The Aggressor. It was hard to watch, a joy to watch, frustrating, and exhilarating. It was bliss, it was hell. All we are is dust in the wind.
The conflicting emotions of the 2001 season were hard to reconcile. Should we be happy for Barry, and that we got to watch such an amazing display? Or should we be upset the team didn't make the playoffs? Oh, this was a timeworn dilemma for Giants fans, one which would be debated for the next hundred seasons, and....
Wait, who actually won the World Series?
You've gotta be @&*#ing kidding me.
The Arizona Diamondbacks won the World Series after existing on the baseball timeline for about as long as it takes to choke on a garlic fry. Seeing Arizona fans scream with insanity as their team won a World Series, at home, in their final at-bat was beyond cruel. Thirty-one people in Chicago were arrested for setting fire to Mrs. Smith's Old-Timey Karma Store.
I don't care about Chicago, however. Boston, take it somewhere else. I care about San Francisco. I want to see a parade down Market Street. I want to name my first child after Barry Bonds' superhuman performance in a World Series. "Now .520/.720/1.440 With 18 RBIs Brisbee, did you really do all your homework?"
If this seems like whining, then all I have to say to you is: Waah. I haven't even suffered with the Giants as long as a lot of people. I was too busy sticking hot-dogs up my nose to appreciate the futility of a Johnnie LeMaster. Hell, when I was six, I saw Johnnie LeMaster at the Redwood City Kaiser and was excited about it. I didn't have the urge to tear out his Achilles' tendon with my teeth. But if someone that bad played for the team now, I wouldn't hesitate if I saw them. It would be an easy prison sentence to serve, as I would have "taken one for the team."
If I had been around since '62, and told myself there's always '63, I'm sure I'd be past my breaking point by now. I can't imagine sitting around in 2041 and wondering if Nikolai Bonds Jr. will ever get his ring. It doesn't seem fun. Therefore, I propose that the Giants win it all this year. I only say this after careful thought and deliberation. Let's crack to it, gentlemen.
So, what did Brian Sabean do for us? There were some key issues to resolve, namely:
And the answers came:
If Bonds weren't back, this team would be truly, truly awful. We could have hoped for Marvin Benard to snort some of whatever Luis Gonzalez got a hold of a couple years back. We also could have hoped for a Brian Giles/Pedro Feliz swap. We also could have hoped for a Little Leaguer to break his arm, have it heal back super-strong to the point where he pitches 110 mph, and have him lead us to the promised land. Which is all to say, welcome back, Barry. Make sure you always have a spotter, Barry. Careful in that pickup basketball game, Barry.
Jason Schmidt seems to be a weird amalgam of Darren Dreifort and Greg Maddux on the free-agent hope spectrum. I'm oddly comforted by his presence, though he is coming off an injury and hasn't done much in the majors when healthy. There's just the weirdest sense of optimism surrounding him. Go figure.
David Bell, "Ouch" Sanders, and Tsuyoshi Shinjo comprise the cavalry for the 2002 Giants. Whee? Bell would have to try really hard to be worse than the three-headed monster manning third base last year. I guess that's all we can ask for. Sanders should give the team 400 solid at-bats. Okay. Shinjo could combine his defensive prowess with some walking lessons from Gene Clines, and be average. Sure.
Is this enough to win it all? No. Wait, maybe. Uh, yes? Shoot, who knows. I laughed when the Diamondbacks signed Mark Grace. Yeah, the team is aging in front of our eyes like the dude who drank from the wrong grail in the third Indiana Jones, they have a solid platoon in Erubiel Durazo and Greg Colbrunn, and they decide to sign an aging first baseman? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, hoo hoo hoo. Ha ha ha. Ha? Crap.
Can the Giants win it all? No. Wait, maybe. The question has looped inside our minds for five offseasons in a row, which is something. Ask a Pittsburgh fan if they'd like to live with being marginal contenders, and they'd likely froth at the mouth. But the Giants need to win it all. Soon. Every time I wonder if they can do it, I think of Tony Womack. The truly awful shortstop started the ninth-inning rally in Game Seven of the World Series. If he isn't on the team, then the Diamondbacks might not win the World Series.
That has some sort of significance that relates to the Giants, I promise. It could be a sign that teams are more than the sum of their parts, and that teams with stars surrounded by mediocre-to-poor talent can win it all. It could also be a sign that more closely resembles the cosmos slowly extending its middle finger. If history is any guide, abandon all hope ye who enter spring training, because it's the second one. But the Diamondbacks themselves have gotten away with mooning history. Why not the Giants?
Tragically, Grant Brisbee sent a photo of his actual self for this year's Postmortem piece. That is, it's not tragic that Grant sent a picture, it's tragic that we're not using pictures this year. And the main reason it's tragic is that Grant's picture could easily be a logo for a discerning corporation. And perhaps one day it will be.