I know that there are a lot of you out there asking, why write about the Giants? We are in Utah, not California. Who cares?
Well, I care. You see, I am a fifth generation San Franciscan, who, even though I now live in Utah, still bleeds the orange and black. As a young girl growing up in a household where the only sport watched was baseball, there was only one team - the San Francisco Giants. If there was baseball on then it had to be the Giants playing. I remember always asking my dad where Willie Mays was. Didn't matter if the two teams were from LA and New York, it was baseball, so in my mind Willie must be on the field somewhere.
As I got older and realized that there really were other teams out there, and as my friends rooted for the A's, or even God help me - the Dodgers, there never was any other team for me. The players changed, but not the orange and black. It was and always has been the Giants for me. For several glorious years I was lucky enough to be a season ticket holder. I had seats in the upper boxes, about 6 rows up from the rail just to the left of home plate. I sat through many cold, frigid night games (not to mention cold frigid day games!) at Candlestick Park. I would often watch the fog roll in over the left field side of the stadium, creeping over the upper deck and floating down until you couldn't see the warning track. I had so many Croix de Candlestick buttons (a pin awarded to those who stayed extra innings at a night game) that I couldn't put them all on my Giants baseball cap.
Even after I got married and moved to Price, the Giants were never out of my heart. My poor husband joked about being a "baseball widower" come spring. He even began watching the games with me, or if I was working and unable to watch he would keep me posted on what the score was and how 'my boys' were doing. He has, in the thirteen years of our marriage, gradually become almost as big a fanatic as myself. We have spent the last few weeks of the playoffs and World Series staring at the television, screaming at the screen, alternately groaning or cheering depending on the action taking place.
We watched, along with baseball fans everywhere, as a rag tag group of veterans and rookies grabbed hold of our hearts and took off running. They weren't supposed to be here. If you were a betting person, and had laid a bet in Vegas at the beginning of the season on the Giants getting into the playoffs you would have had 30-1 odds. And I am pretty sure the odds of them winning the World Series were even higher. Reading articles before the playoffs those 'in the know' were saying the boys from San Francisco would never beat the Phillies. They were wrong. Then they were saying the Rangers would mop up the place with them. After all, the Giants didn't have offense. They didn't have a 30-home run guy. They didn't have the RBI guys either. There was no way they would make it past the formidable pitching arms of the Texas bullpen.
Well, I recall my father saying home runs are pretty, and they are exciting, but they usually don't win games by themselves. You need things like a blooping base hit dropping into a gap, or beating out the throw to first by a whisker. You need sliding in under the tag, or a sacrifice bunt to move along the runner. The Giants did all that...and tossed the home runs in too.
This 2010 Giants team isn't full of prima donnas. They are a motley crew, some with thick bushy beards, some who look like they are not even old enough to shave. They work together as if they have played with each other for years, even though some of them have only been playing together for a few months. And they proved all the pundits wrong.
At the end of game five, I watched the team pour out onto the field, leaping across the grass, arms in the air, screaming themselves hoarse with joy. And there were tears in my eyes. My 12-year-old daughter looked over at me and said 'Mom...you're crying!' All I could do is nod.
You want to know something? Life comes around full circle. You see, to my daughter, when baseball is on she figures it is the Giants. And she turns to me and asks 'Mom, where is Buster Posey?'
Ok, so maybe things change a little.
Way to go, Giants!