Well, At Least Now We All Know...

by John Broesamle

The San Francisco Giants are the West Coast version of the Boston Red Sox and the Chicago Cubs. I've hoped against hope that it wasn't true, while alternately fearing and suspecting that it was. But with this year's epic choking away of the 2002 World Series, there can be no doubt. This team is cursed. They cannot, will not, and shall not win the big one. At least not while I'm alive. They are the Oh-For-San Francisco Giants.

The way they lost in '62 should've been a big clue. But, hey, no shame in losing on a screaming line drive, right? And after all, they've only been in San Francisco five years. With Mays, McCovey, Cepeda, Marichal, and the rest, there'll be plenty more World Series, right? Right? Well... wrong. Okay, so the next one came 27 years later. And then the earthquake pretty much rendered that one null and void, except in that the Giants' collapse was not unlike that of parts of the Marina District. This year was different, though. This year the Giants just flat out choked. They didn't just snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. They pumped victory's stomach and then performed a nifty little C-section when defeat kept getting lodged in victory's duodenum.

Mistakes Were Made...

It's been a little over a month at this writing, and I still struggle to make sense of what took place. I still can't quite categorize the horror of what my eyes witnessed.

I mean, it was all... right... THERE! Game 6. "Eight outs away with a five run lead and no one on base." Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life -- much more than "Why couldn't McCovey have hit the ball three feet higher?" ever has.

A few Giants fans, and lots of others besides, have comforted us with that wonderful and sage old bit o' baseball wisdom:

"The Angels were just the better team! That's baseball! You just have to tip your hat and say, we'll get 'em next year!" "And hey, hey, hey! It was still a gr-r-reat season, wudnit?"

People of this sort deserve to have their collective spleens removed manually through their nostrils, then be forced to run the Boston Marathon in platform flip-flops, with their kneecaps stapled together.

Even if maybe they are right.

As for me, I don't care what anyone says, there's just NO EXCUSE for coughing up a lead THAT BIG, with SO FEW outs left, and SO MUCH at stake! Surely, something could've been done! Surely blowing a five-run lead with no one on base and just eight outs left to be recorded wasn't a fait accompli? Not even for the San Francisco Giants?

That, right there, is the crux of the matter for me. Forget the "Livan/Rueter starting Game 7" question (I mean, I actually wanted the rotation to go Schmidt/Rueter/Ortiz/Livan, or at least Schmidt/Ortiz/Rueter/Livan). No, after Game 6 was coughed up, the Giants were goners. They were dead men walking. Or, with respect to Jeff Kent, Pedro Feliz, Tom Goodwin, and a few others in Game 7, maybe "dead men flailing" might be a bit more accurate.

Nope, for me it will always inevitably and inexorably come back to the seventh inning of Game 6. The events that took place (and didn't take place) in that accursed inning absolutely dwarf all other events and occurrences in the 2002 World Series.

Now, first of all I freely and unabashedly claim the right and privilege of second-guessing and engaging in the liberal use of hindsight. I mean, what, do you expect me to just accept that "these things happen" and "no one could've known" and then go placidly on my miserable way? No! No! No! and NO! For one thing, "these things" don't "just happen." For another, I knew! I mean, when you're a Giants fan, you know that disaster is crouching behind every bush, skulking behind every corner and lurking down every dark alley. Or at least you oughta know.

So... Game 6... seventh inning. Two outs, none on. The Giants leading 5-0. Russ Ortiz sailing merrily along. Troy Glaus singles. Brad Fullmer singles. Scott Spiezio coming up.

The basic questions at this point are:

1. Could someone (and here, Gregg, I mean, a player, coach or manager of the San Francisco Giants) have somehow done something different that perhaps could have saved the day and the Series for the Giants?

   OR

2. Was there nothing anyone could've done to alter the inevitable outcome, because after all, it's the San Francisco Giants we're talking about here?

I'd like to focus on several individuals here -- not necessarily because I want to "blame" them; I mean, I really can't see any one person who did anything that was truly Bucknerian here. But then again, if I were any of the following people, I also can't imagine that I wouldn't be up most nights, pacing to and fro while racking my brain and replaying over and over the part I played in the Game 6 debacle. I can't imagine that I wouldn't be (or shouldn't be) second-guessing myself in a huge and horrible way if I were any of the following:

• Dusty: It always starts with him doesn't it? Actually, it's tough to find too much fault with Dusty here. I mean he managed according to what had worked for him pretty much all season long. Get the starting pitcher through six, and farther if possible. Go to Felix Rodriguez, Tim Worrell, and Robb Nen to close out the win. But I do question Dusty because I think the Game 6 situation did vary from the norm in some important ways.
  
  The Game 6 bullpen implosion was a disaster ready to happen. Nen was hurting. Worrell had pitched in four of the first five games, Rodriguez in all five. By the way, did Worrell really need to pitch in Game 5, with the Giants leading 8-4? Certainly he didn't need to come out and pitch the eighth, with the Giants up 12-4. And did Rodriguez really need to pitch the seventh inning of Game 3, with the Giants trailing 9-4? Overusing a reliever in a postseason series often results in fatigue for that pitcher and greater familiarity with the pitcher on the part of the opposing team's hitters. This, I think, we saw in Game 6.
  
  Rodriguez's battle with Spiezio provides a perfect example. Again, Felix had pitched in every game up to this point. Also, because Dusty had chosen to pitch him in Game 3, this was Spiezio's third time facing Rodriguez in the Series. In Game 2, he had flown out to deep right-center; in Game 3, he had flown out to medium-to-deep center field. As the at-bat unfolded, two things became clear:
  
  Rodriguez didn't quite have his normal zip and movement that allows him to dominate hitters.
  
  Spiezio had seen enough of Rodriguez to be in control of the situation.
  
  The at bat went: ball one, three straight foul balls, ball two, another foul ball, ball three... and then Spiezio finally got the pitch he was looking for. And he hit it pretty much how and where he wanted to hit it. And this time it carried far enough to be a game-turning, Series-turning three-run home run.
  
  Scott Eyre followed Rodriguez. The main reason Toronto released him is he's not reliable -- and he wasn't
  Then came Tim Worrell. The less said about his outing the better
  
  Anyway, the Angels were due to solve Worrell and Rodriguez, and solve them they did. Dusty should've seen this kind of thing coming. But then again, the fact that he overused Rodriguez and Worrell in the first place only serves to show that Dusty was incapable of seeing it coming. So Dusty deserves a fair share of second-guessing.
  
  In hindsight, given what certainly could be seen as the fragile state of the bullpen, the point is this: From the first pitch of that ballgame, Dusty and Righetti should have had Russ thinking about going the distance, not just making it to the seventh. Some might say, "Hey, it's the World Series! The bullpen should've sucked it up!" To which I would say, "Well, why couldn't Russell have been the one to suck it up?" After all, Ortiz had only thrown 98 pitches when Dusty took him out. In his last 11 regular season outings, Ortiz averaged 117 pitches and never threw fewer than 111!
  
  In my (re)considered opinion, the purpose of Dusty's seventh inning visit to the mound should've been to give Russell a pep talk and get him to bear down and get through not only the seventh inning, but maybe the eighth inning too. (Then the bullpen could've coughed up the game!) Dusty should have known that the game -- the Series -- was hanging in the balance right there. He should've known that the Angels were making their last stand. Instead, he basically said, "Nice game, Russell! See you on the winner's podium in a half-hour or so. Oh, here -- have the game ball as a nice memento and parting gift!"
  
  Yep, then there's that whole deal with giving Russ the game ball.
  
  Sorry -- it was a nice gesture and all. And even the Angels know, in the deepest chambers of their wicked little hearts, that Dusty meant no disrespect. Still, for Dusty to do what he did there was just plain stupid. I mean, only a complete moron would think that handing Ortiz the game ball right then didn't communicate that the Giants thought they pretty much had things wrapped up. Yeah, maybe it is stupid and childish that ballplayers react to things this way, but it's reality, and Dusty should've known it.
  
  Okay, but I'm not going to only single out Dusty for blame. As I said, he went with a successful and arguably proper formula. And also, as I said, who's to say that if Ortiz had managed to go another inning or two, the bullpen still wouldn't have coughed the up the lead? And, as many are oh-so-fond of pointing out, "Dusty doesn't throw the pitches or swing the bats or catch the fly balls or scoop up the low throws." Fine. Let's spread a little blame around some. Who else can we fault? Well... okay, there's...

• Russ: Great outing, awesome job... for six innings. Unfortunately, he needed to "bulldog up" for another inning or two (or even three). Instead, he lost his command and let himself get lifted much sooner than he should have. He should've had to make Dusty drag him off the mound kicking and screaming. I just thought he was a bit too sanguine about letting the bullpen finish things up. That's fine most other times... but not in the World Series.
  
  
• Felix: I really don't have a lot of criticism of Rodriguez here. Dusty did overuse him. Still, Felix battled Spiezio pretty well in that fateful at bat. Kept the ball up and away for the most part through the first seven pitches. But inevitably, he just had to go ahead and put one in Scotty's happy zone... and the rest is nauseating. By the way, is it just me, or does Spiezio remind anyone else of Milton Krest (Anthony Zerbe) in "The Living Daylights" (the last of the two Timothy Dalton Bond films)? Remember? Anyone? Krest was Sanchez's drug-runner associate who ended up in that pressure chamber thing, where he blew up real good? From now on, whenever I see that movie, and that scene, I'll sort of imagine that it is Spiezio! Wheee! Won't that be fun?
  
  
• Eyre: Thanks for nothing.
  
  
• Worrell: Just a horrendous performance. Ball one to Erstad. Ball one to Salmon. Hideous-looking "hit-me" pitches to Erstad, Salmon, and Anderson.
  
  
• Nen: Okay, I know he was hurting, but that 2-1 pitch to Glaus looked like something even Ben Weber would've disowned. Oh, and after he coughed up that double to Glaus, Nen suddenly found his filthy slider again. Great timing, Robb!
  
  
• Bonds: For an apparent inability to pick up a baseball and remain on his feet in the outfield. And especially for acting like the game was already over when he batted against Francisco Rodriguez in the seventh inning. You know how the 49ers lately have been opening up sizable fourth-quarter leads, then basically phoning in the remainder of the game, two of which they ended up losing, and four more of which they nearly lost? Well, Barry's seventh-inning at-bat against Frankie Rodriguez was sort of the baseball version of that.
  
  Look, we've all watched Barry Bonds enough to know when he's focused, when he's "dialed in," when he's trying too hard, and when he can't be bothered. This was a clear case of the latter. You know, I think we've all seen plenty of occasions when Bonds gave less than acceptable effort in some phase of the game other than hitting: On defense, running out grounders or popups, or even turning his doubles or triples into singles. But it's actually quite rare that Barry doesn't put forth effort in an at-bat. Here it was clear that Barry thought he'd done enough, that this one was all but in the bag, and that his World Series MVP was assured. So he let up and lollygagged and winked his way through a pathetic at-bat, when one more home run or double from Barry might've been the final dagger to the Angels' collective heart.
  
  
• Snow, Sanders, and Bell: for their pathetic excuse for at bats against Brendan Donnelly (who I still say looks like Emily Litella from the old SNL) in the top of the eighth. By the way, the fact that the Giants were only able to manage one hit in seven and two-thirds World Series innings against that chucklehead is an absolute abomination.
  
  
• The whole team: for failing to finish the Angels off when they were down and gasping for air. For thinking that they could just coast their way through the last three innings. For failing to realize that when a wounded animal is cornered, that's when it fights the hardest. That's when it is most dangerous. The Giants should've known this and put their collective boot to the Angels' throats. They did it in Game 5, why not in Game 6? Instead they just put 'er in neutral and tried to run out the clock. They ran out of resolve and fight when they needed it most.
  
  
• Gregg: In the end, and in our heart of hearts, I think we all know who really is to blame.

The Bright Side

Well heck, it was a great season in lots of ways. I got to attend my first-ever postseason game (NLCS Game 4), and got to see Benito hit that home run. I'll never forget that, either. The 2002 Giants accomplished lots of wonderful things. Just not that one thing. Today, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to see that one thing. And I guess I'll just have to live with that. (That was the bright side?)

Where Do We Go from Here?

The funny thing is, I really don't care even close to as much as I have for the last 40 years or so. When I ponder such questions as "Ortiz for Giles?" and "Ray Durham?" and even "Pedro Feliz or Bill Mueller?" I keep finding myself thinking the same reply: "Who cares?" The Giants will still find a way to screw things up. They may do well. They may do poorly. But no matter what, they'll still lose any World Series in which they may happen on rare occasions to find themselves.

It's all just straightening pictures in a burning house. Arranging deck chairs on the Titanic. McDonald's posting nutritional info on their menu items. Madonna taking acting lessons.

But oh, all right. I'll play along. Felipe Alou seems like an okay hire, I guess. I don't know. He's not Dusty. He's not a former Dodger. That's two good things right there. Then again, Felipe is the guy who failed to get a sacrifice bunt down and failed to advance brother Matty to second base in the fateful ninth inning of Game 7 in the '62 World Series. That meant that when Willie Mays doubled, would-be-tying-run-Matty-Alou could only get as far as third base. Where he remains to this day. See, everyone likes to talk about McCovey's line drive, but what would've happened if Felipe had gotten that bunt down? Well, okay, the Giants probably would've just gone on to lose 2-1 in the tenth inning, on a Tom Haller passed ball... after two were out with no one on. But that's beside the point. I think it's beside the point. What was the point, anyway?

Who should play center field? Right field? Second base? Third base? Well... there's Neifi Perez! Uhh... and there's uhhh... you know, Neifi once won a Gold Glove!

I've read the Giants may sign 38-year old Steve Finley for two years at $9 mil per. At least this way, Finley won't kill Giants pitching like he always has, even when he was with Baltimore, I'm pretty sure. Plus, Finley could finally solve that lefty relief problem the Giants have had for far too long! That would make him a real bargain!

I've read about how the Giants are still thinking about bringing back Jeff Kent and his ever-sunny disposition. The only thing that makes this even better is that there's also a chance the Giants could bring in Raul Mondesi, too! This is truly exciting. I mean put Kent, Mondesi, and Barry in the same clubhouse and you've got yourself a nice little Bad Attitude Trifecta! And no annoying Shawon Dunston around either to keep messing up all that bad chemistry.

There's all the usual talk about Brian Giles and Vladimir Guerrero and Cliff Floyd and Ray Durham. But come now. Let's all just try to come back for a moment to a place I like to call Earth. Does anyone really think even one of these guys will be wearing a Giants uniform anytime before they reach the age of 39? I mean, yes, the Giants have pitching to deal. And Brian Sabean almost always manages to come up with some decent return while giving up very little if anything, whenever he makes a trade. But Sabean is a guy who loves buying low, and none of the above-mentioned players will come cheap.

To be honest, I don't think there's all that much the Giants can or should do this offseason, other than retrench, lay low, and wait for 2004. The fact is, going back to 1962 and the advent of two 10-team leagues, only three times in the last 40-plus years has the losing team of a World Series come back to win the World Series the following year. Two of those three teams (the 1970 Orioles and the 1989 A's) were dominant teams coming back from upset losses the previous year. The other team was the 1977 Yankees who clearly were on the brink of a dynasty in 1976. The Giants simply are not a good bet to come back strong in 2003, even with a good offseason.

The best approach for the Giants (and as a fan I hate saying this, but it's reality in today's world of MLB) is probably to lay low and save their money and best trades for next offseason.

Ain't it Fun Being a Giants Fan?

Oh, sure it is. Just gut-withering, soul-shredding, brain-popping bliss, it is!

Go Giants.

Copyright ©2002 by John Broesamle

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