Simply Mort
(Because I couldn't decide whether it was a postmortem, premortem, both, or neither)

by Gregg Pearlman


Monday, December 22, 1997

How did the Giants manage to finish in first place? I still don't know. I only know that I have this nagging feeling that not going all the way in 1997 has pretty much sealed our doom forevermore, thanks to the strong possibility that soon enough, Rupert Murdoch will ensure that the Dodgers perennially field the National League All-Star Team, a lineup that might necessitate Mike Piazza batting eighth or something.

A major contributor to the Giants' division-best 92-70 record was heart. I don't care what you might say in disagreement. I don't care if no statistics exist to back up that assertion. All I know is that down the stretch, this team won, this team scrapped, this team played like a bunch of guys who love to play baseball. This team believed -- certainly more than its fans did; certainly more than this fan did.

This team won. And it won in rather spectacular fashion, almost literally seizing the division forever on September 18, when catcher Brian Johnson hit that twelfth-inning, game-winning, head-spinning home run that put his team into a first-place tie with the Dodgers. Then the comments started -- in the Dodgers' clubhouse, for a change: the occasional sour-grapey remark, the whistling in the dark, the really vague statements that you know were said more out of fear of bad juju than anything else. Typical stuff, really -- not necessarily of the Dodgers, but of teams in their position. These guys were shocked -- they had the NL West bagged, and then the Giants simply came up and took it away. The Dodgers reeled in disbelief, then lost confidence. Lest you think this is typical Dodger-bashing on my part, let me just say that this happens a lot in baseball, and it's happened enough to the Giants over the years. The team that's been de-perched, well, suddenly no tienen ganas. I don't think the players know it, at least not consciously, but they've caught the uncertainty bug, and it's their undoing. The bug does them in before they know it's hit them.

An example of this might be seen in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, when, accompanied by swashbuckling music, John Cleese, as Sir Launcelot, suddenly wipes out one of the two sentries who'd been placidly guarding a castle, which Cleese then storms. The other sentry plaintively and ineffectually says: "Hey!"

Something similar happened to the Giants in 1993, but a better analogy would be the one about the boy who says, "I had a no-hitter going until the big kids got out of school." (I had a similar experience in sixth grade, when, to my surprise, I was timed at 6.9 in a 50-yard dash. I wasn't the fastest runner in class, but I was close, and feeling pretty smug about it -- until the next year, when I ran against someone who was legitimately fast, and I got smoked.)

So we've covered heart. Now let's look at the front office -- which I don't want to do in great detail this time; sorry. Brian Sabean picked up Jeff Kent, Jose Vizcaino, Julian Tavarez, J.T. Snow, Doug Henry, Rich Rodriguez, Mark Lewis, Damon Berryhill, Brian Johnson, Wilson Alvarez, Roberto Hernandez, Danny Darwin, Terry Mulholland, and Pat Rapp. I'm sure I've left out somebody, but the point is, in some way, all of these guys contributed -- some more than others. (I mean, I hardly want to equate Rapp's contribution with that of Snow.) The main thing we gave up in all this was Matt Williams, and though we missed him, we adapted.

Richard Booroojian reviewed the 1997 season in superb detail in "Anything Can Happen -- And For Once, It Did," so I don't want to tread mostly covered ground. However, let's one again look at this team, position by position (excluding prospects such as Darin Blood and Russ Ortiz, who haven't played for the Giants yet). If I've left out anyone, please let me know:


Copyright ©1997 by Gregg Pearlman

Last updated 12/22/97
Gregg Pearlman, gregg@EEEEEEgp.com

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