Stu Scott's Lazy Eye

The World Series win by the Giants has been billed countless different ways by sportswriters across the country.

For some, it was about the past. About the legacies of Willies Mays and McCovey, about Juan Marichal’s high leg kick and freezing through an extra inning game at Candlestick Park on a Sunday afternoon in July. It was the culmination of an oft-overlooked historic tradition of great baseball in an underrated baseball town.

For others, it was true affirmation that great pitching will always beat great hitting. Anyone who saw Vlad Guerrero swing (flail) a bat during Games 4 and 5 will never argue any differently.

Some said it was fitting that a team of misfits was the only bunch who could bring a title to a city as unique as San Francisco. Who else would embrace the flamboyancy of a bullpen led by the shrunken jersey-wearing, social norm-ignoring, Chris Rose-nemesis Brian Wilson?

But for people like me who live outside the friendly confines of the bay, it’s about damn time.

As a Giants fan dragged away from the Bay and deep into Dodger territory at a young age, I grew up used to defending myself and my team. And honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Dodger fans were plentiful and not shy about their thoughts regarding my hometown. But, as a knowledgeable baseball fan, I could talk shit right back at them.

Then came October 26, 2002, the day that changed my life. Game 6 of the World Series. When the Series started, the Los Angeles basin had barely heard of the Angels. There were no Troy Glaus jersey sightings around town, no Angel flags or decals on cars, nothing. LA had been, and always will be, in a sense, a Dodger town. So, by the time the Series rolled around, Dodger fans had already checked out of baseball and into USC football.

As a 12-year-old, I had no concept of karma or comeuppance. When Dusty Baker handed Russ Ortiz the game ball after his seven shutout innings of work and a 5-0 lead, I thought nothing of it.

But then came the Rally Monkey, Scott Spiezio, Darren Erstad and Troy Glaus, and before I knew it I was sitting shellshocked in front of the TV, watching Troy Percival strike out Rich Aurilia to complete the come-from-behind 6-5 win.

I remember vividly the events of the following day, a beautiful fall Sunday, the date of my K-8 school’s fall carnival. I remember being assaulted by red-and-white, new jerseys and hats, and dastardly Rally Monkey puppets. I lasted just ten minutes before fleeing to the relative security of my parents’ car, unable to handle the constant heckling from a source I’d never before encountered. For you see, October 26th, 2002, was the day Angel fans were born, and the day my deep hibernation away from the game of baseball began.

But this team brought me back, for more than just Angel fan payback. Back to the game I love, back and more excited than ever to spend a summer afternoon in the second deck, watching the kayakers mill back and forth in the bay. For outsiders, it’s tricky to understand why a team like this would receive the kind of devotion it has from San Franciscans. But they didn’t sit through the all-business, all-ego years of Barry Bonds, years where the team-first personalities of Aurilia and J.T. Snow were lost behind Barry’s private area in the team clubhouse. They didn’t have to listen to Jeff Kent lie through his teeth about his broken wrist, claiming he had fallen out of the bed of his pickup truck while cleaning it, instead of falling off his motorcycle while doing wheelies.

The City has long backed its players unconditionally (see Bonds, Barry), but the undercurrent of frustration had reached a boiling point by the time the 2010 season began. There was no offense, the stud rookie catcher was being held in the minor leagues to decrease his arbitration value, and the left side of the infield weighed a combined 600 pounds (or so it seemed).

Then GM Brian Sabean realized that he might finally lose his job barring a successful year. And he began adding any pieces he could find as the season went on, like a frantic shopper throwing everything into his cart. Cody Ross and Pat Burrell hit in the 4th and 5th spots in the lineup on Monday night, but neither were on the opening day roster.

Now it’s time for the Giants fans to come out of the woodwork to hop on the bandwagon, just like Los Angelinos in 2002 and Bostonians in 2004.

And if there are any young Ranger fans living in San Francisco, I feel for you, I really do. There’s nothing worse than being surrounded by excited, crazy people while you’re depressed.

But chin up, at least you’ve got the Cowboys.

Too soon?

~ by Chris on November 2, 2010.

Posted in Baseball
Tags: anaheim, angels, barry bonds, brian sabean, brian wilson, candlestick park, dodgers, giants, jeff kent, juan marichal, los angeles, rally monkey, rangers, san francisco, texas, willie mays, willie mccovey, world series