More Than Just Baseball

  Some guy on KNBR last night (yes - I can find it on my dial and even listen to it - the interview with Tim Lincecum's father was life-changing...) referred to the latest World Series Giants as "more than just baseball".  He is right, and I am not quite sure why.  All I know is that it became everything to us, and now it is over and it is still everything to us.  And by "us", I guess I mean "me".  

     But truer words were never spoken : this whole month or so hasn't just been baseball for The City.  Baseball is pretty self-explanatory.  We get it.  Men live for it, women love it (ed. note - it's the boys), kids want to BE it.  Championships and series' are very exciting - but The Giants are different.  Somehow.    It's not just baseball for us : it's sex (you've seen some of these boys, right ?)  and hope and history and miracles and love and pride and dope and orange and black and faith and trust and tears and parades and confetti and screaming and being brought to our knees by....more than just baseball.

     Entire days and nights were scheduled around The Game (s) - how much can I get done before the National Anthem ?   I can TiVo (the whole thing !) the pre-game, but I want to be seated for the first pitch.   I actually felt rushed on Travel Day - so much to do before we had to play again.  I even seriously considered resting my pitching arm for a full 5 days.  My kids know that, during this post-season - I will not respond to any of their needs unless there is blood or fire involved.  Walk it off, Missys - pop a  Red Bull.  The Giants are playing.

   The pre-game energy in The City was palpable - we are all wearing Giants gear and admiring the festooning of the world in team sprit as we scooted around town smiling and chanting.   I'd wear a nut cup if I thought  a) it made any sense whatsoever, and b) would aid The Team in any way.    People who usually hate and fuck with and tailgate and flip off and begrudge one another are now all teary eyed and saying "Go Giants!" to each other.  How does this happen ?  And why ?  And does it happen like this anywhere else ?

   There was almost a hush over The City.  But could we call it a hush when, just barely under the surface, lay exuberance and giddy-ness and hysteria and just overall emotional overload ?  It felt like night was day.  There is a God, and he favors us.  The planets have never been aligned so perfectly.  There was a national election - we did not care.  If Timmy Lincecum or Brian Wilson or Buster Posey or Aubrey Huff or Cody Ross weren't up for office, it just didn't matter. ( Republicans taking over ?  What.  Ever.  Just don't fuck with the Giants.)  I think I even wrote them in for a few select offices.  I demand a recount.  

    There was nothing we couldn't do.  There was not a Giants pitcher we wouldn't do.  We all feel entitled - like we are part owners of The Giants.  Like actual shareholders, only more fun at parties.  Like some cocky sons-of-bitches.   MY team.  MY players.  MY ballpark.  MY Lincecum.  Step off, bitch.   We know their pets' names, their shoe sizes, their underwear preference, their middle names, their high schools, their training regimens, their odd habits, their hairdos.  We ARE the San Francisco Giants.   Fact.

   And to those babies who say that if we didn't watch every game we are fake Giants fans and how dare you and...well, most of us remember chilly nights at Candlestick where the gate was, like, 213 people and a cheap bleacher seat got you right behind the dugout and....I know, right ?  One million of us stood on Market Street last week to honor a team we are madly in love with.  

           The courtship is irrelevant - the love is there.  Oh fuck yeah.