Hang in there. This is gonna be a long one...
If you've been following this blog since I cranked up the squeeze box last season, you understand how I feel about
Juan U-RIBE! Most of my love for the man can be traced to a cool evening at Safeco Field in May of 2009. The Giants had lost 8 of 9 to fall below .500 for the first time and managed just five runs while dropping the first four games of a roadie to San Diego and the Great Northwest. I arrived on the shores of Puget Sound late Friday night with tickets for the remaining weekend contests. My girlfriend at the time and I were sitting along the right field line Saturday night, marveling at the Japanese tourists and locals incessantly snapping photos of Ichiro — Ichiro stretching, Ichiro running, Ichiro stretching, Ichiro catching a fly ball...
"Shotgun" Matt Cain gave up an early run but otherwise shut down the Mariners offense on a modicum of pitches, but as per usual, he received none run support, and we entered the eighth down 1-Love. In the seventh, los Gigantes had loaded the bases with one out and — surprise — failed to score, so when
Bengie Molina singled with two out in the eighth,
Randy Winn followed with a single, and
Emmanuel Burriss walked to load the bases again, I wasn't exactly perched on the edge of my seat. This is where Juan Uribe comes up and whiffs on three straight sliders in the dirt, I thought to myself. But he got ahead 1-0, and the Seattle reliever threw him something he could elevate. He took it the other way into the right-centerfield gap to clear the bases, and I went absolutely ballistic. I don't often act the fool in another team's park. I like to show some respect. But this was no time for professional courtesy. I was giddy with delight, jumping around like a madman, probably scaring the bejeebus out of my g.f. And when
Fred Lewis jacked one to right in the very next AB, I practically had a cow come shooting out of my ass. The Giants had just scored as many runs in one inning as they'd posted in their four previous games. Bolstered by the love from his bats, Matty breezed through the eighth and ninth to finish off a complete game 10-hitter. Seven Ks. No walks. Giants back in gear. Season pulled back from the brink. And even though we fell the next day on some late homers off
Barry Zito, 2009 would never be the same. The Giants surged to September and were on the verge of a playoff spot before running out of gas, and I can't help but think the momentum from that night in Seattle is still elevating their game, driving them to greater and greater heights than anyone in their right mind deemed possible. This is a tremendous team, no doubt, with pitching to match any staff in postseason history. But like the cheesy advertising slogan says: There may just be some magic inside this place...
So why do I bother telling you this long-winded story? Well, my friends, baseball is a very cyclical game, down to its very core. And in the eighth inning of Game 2 of the World Series, the Giants led off with a pair of strikeouts, and my season ticket partner leans over and says, "We're gonna see U-RIBE! bat this inning." Never mind that he was five batters away with two outs. Never mind that this could very well be the last at bat the Giants take in this park in this magical season. Never mind that none of us wanted the dream to end. So when
Buster Posey squeaked a single and the walk parade began, we just sat back and let it all sink in. Then, sure enough, Juan U-RIBE! was standing at the plate, and who should enter the game but the same reliever who toed the rubber for the Mariners on that cool night in May some 18 months ago.
Mark Lowe came over to the Rangers in the
Cliff Lee trade, and I have to believe it was fate that these teams should meet on this stage, that these two souls should face each other in an identical situation under vastly different circumstances. Did they remember the at bat that tied them together in Giants lore, if only in my mind? Was Lowe thinking about getting ahead, keeping the ball off the plate? Was U-RIBE! thinking of taking one the other way? I'll probably never know, and none of the other beat guys or bloggers seemed to grasp the significance, especially in the context of the insanity that was the bottom of the eighth. But it was a moment I'll never forget, and when U-RIBE! coaxed a rare walk to force in a run, I had to grin and shake my head. Some game. Some game...
BTW...
> U-RIBE! was a clutch player before he came to the Giants. He will continue to be clutch after he leaves. But he will never be forgotten in this town. From the sac fly in Game 4 against the Phils to the home run that won the National League pennant to the 3-run bomb to open up Game 1 with the Rangers to the RBI single that gave Matt Cain room to breathe late in Game 2... This guy doesn't get a ton of hits, but he gets them at absolutely the right time. It's something you can't teach, and even though he's a free swinger, you don't want him to change a thing, because when he runs into one, it usually goes a long way...
> Speaking of clutch, there's a reason you don't see me rag on
Edgar Renteria very often, and the whole damn country got a fine example of it on Thursday night. Dude is playing with a partially torn bicep, and he still managed to get out in front of a fastball and drive it out to left to break a 0-0 tie, and he did it off a pitcher who'd given up 10 jacks all year. You might remember an even better example from late last season. On a Sunday, with the Giants needing a sweep at home against the Rockies to pull even in the Wild Card race, Edgar crushed a grand slam to left, bringing the Giants back from a late 3-run deficit and seemingly propelling them into the final stretch. Of course, we all know how last season turned out, but I'll remember that AB for quite some time. So when Edgar hit his dong off
C.J. Wilson, it seemed to fit right into place...
> Enough has been written about
Ian Kinsler's near-home run in the top of that ominous fifth inning, and I don't need to jump on the dog pile. Suffice it to say that the Giants blew a good opportunity to score in the bottom of the fourth, and that's usually when guys like Kinsler hit drives like that just to stick it up your you-know-where. But this one came back. Miraculously so. And you got the feeling that all the tears of the past had led to this moment of joy. We shall see if everything pans out in the end, but for now, the water feels fine...
> Somebody on the
Twitter thing said the last 11 teams to win the first two games of a World Series at home have gone on to win the series. I love those kinda stats because they leave out the most important information, such as the average number of games it took for the eventual winners to finish off their opponents. Much as I'd love to see more baseball by the Cove this season, I won't be broken up if the Giants finish this off in short order under the big and bright starry nights of Arlington. In fact, there's part of me that would take a certain pleasure in watching our boys dance in front of both Bush 41 and 43 while Nolan Ryan hangs his head. But if it has to come back to China Basin, I'll be there, and so will 43,000 of my friends, and we will have a parade when it's done. And if our luck runs out between now and then, we'll go back to our lives, no better or worse, just another notch on the bedpost of our discontent...
> There's a reason I don't have much to say about Game 1, and that's because I got me a little bit drunky on Racer 5 and PBR and have very few distinct memories that stand out beyond the game, which you all saw. I can tell you that I crossed the line with the Rangers families pretty early on, and once the boys rebounded from an early deficit and knocked Lee out of the game, I had a damn good time racking up a stack of World Series commemorative cups. The big bummer of the evening came outside on the Portwalk after the game, when I lost my season ticket holder card while chatting up the mother of a Rangers' reliever who hadn't made the World Series roster. Hopefully, it ended up in the Cove where all Giants relics belong... As you can tell from this post, I made it home safely thanks to a animal-style stop at In-N-Out, but I vowed that I'd be a good boy the next night...
> Here's what I will say about Game 1: Before the series started, I'm on record as saying if the Giants beat Cliff Lee, they win the series. I wasn't alone in that prediction, but I was certainly one of the few who thought they could actually do it. Sure enough, dreams can come true. But not without a little luck, and not without a little mojo. Everyone in the park for these two games could feel it. Something in the air, something in the water, something in the garlic fries... Something is percolating by the Bay, and it feels an awful lot like destiny. But we'll see where the gods take things from here...
> When we got inside on Thursday,
Bengie Molina's mom was sitting in my seat. It's not uncommon for people with SRO tickets to wind up crashing until we arrive, but this was a VIP, and we couldn't just give her the ol' heave ho, especially since her knees wouldn't allow her to get down to the family seats below us. They offered me her seat in exchange for mine, but as a man of superstition with a strong distaste for sitting amongst the enemy in my own park, I couldn't give up my post. So we compromised. They pulled over a loose chair and plopped her down next to me in the open space reserved for wheelchairs. I was honestly a little hungover from the night before, and as such in less of a mood for obnoxious taunting, so the timing of this encounter actually worked out pretty well. She didn't speak any English, so I got to dust off my Spanish, and did okay, mas o menos. I told her to tell Bengie that he was a great Giant and that we all still love him. I really hope he gets the message. That b.s. Sabean dropped about having plans to trade him all along really rubbed me the wrong way. Not very professional. but whatever, the guy's usually a class act. Anyway, we took a picture with Bengie's mom which I'll post here at some point. Really cool to kick back and enjoy a game with a woman who's got some great baseball genes, though I can't say she cared much for our renditions of "Lights" or "Livin' On A Prayer"...
In response to all of your queries, I have no idea where I'm watching Game 3. I guess it all depends on whether or not I want to be around people when Dirty does his dirty thing. He and I have this kinda love-hate thing goin' on, and it makes me a little weird. Anyway, enjoy the proceedings from wherever your perch might be...
The Last Tweet...
Oct. 28th, 10:20 p.m.
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