FOUR YEARS OF GIANTS FANDOM
I came to baseball in the spring of 2002, Dusty Baker's last year here, when the Giants were at the top of their form. We had Rich Aurilia. We had Jeff Kent. We had Benito Santiago. We had Reggie Sanders, Kenny Lofton, and David Bell. Barry Bonds was surrounded by men with great at bats and impressive defense. (My Dad says the only thing that could have completed the team that year is Larry Walker batting behind Bonds.)
It was a terrific time to be introduced, head over heels, to the great American game. I used to watch these games with other bar patrons of the Wild Side West in Bernal Heights, whooping and screaming as the Giants plowed yet again toward The Great Year.
That year, Mike Scioscia said: "...That Giant club is more than Barry Bonds. I think that if you are going to try to paint the Series as, 'OK, you hold Barry Bonds down, you win,' I think you are wrong." Bay Area fans grokked the truth in that. We had the most spectacular baseball player in the world playing on our already really good team.
My friend, Rob, a great fan of cheap beer, and I used to play pool at the Wild Side, in plain view of two gigantic TV monitors showing Giants games that spring. Between shots (pool) and shots (booze), he would explain to me why someone was so good or not so good, what was going on, why certain activities and techniques were so important, why others were foolish mistakes. Many evenings, after work, I'd walk down the hill a mere block and a half to sit, gnosh, and talk shit with the Wild Side's baseball fans. Chicks bigger and stronger than me. Old guys who'd been following baseball since World War 2. La-homeys in the most pimpin' sports attire. The old lady who owned the place, cackling over the bar at the TV. Sometimes, when we were in the middle of a good game and starting to feel our booze, the Tamale Lady would show up with her steaming cart of hand-made tamales, inspiring many mmmmm-good responses in her bewitched and slightly drunken audience.
I remember the nights the Giants defeated Atlanta for the division, then St. Louis for the championship, and went on to lose to Anaheim in the World Series. The honking cars and clogged streets—I finally understood them. When I lived in Chicago in the mid-90s, during the reign of the Bulls and Michael Jordan, I never fully appreciated how special those 4 consecutive championships were. Only in the dark of a woman's bar in isolated Bernal Heights did I see a sort of light inherent in the collective roar of people with almost nothing in common.
The following season, Felipe Alou took the coaching reigns after San Francisco unceremoniously and rudely shoved Dusty Baker away. I still don't understand what went on there, only that it involved a lot of enmity and tax records. Dusty moved on to Chicago, Jeff Kent left for Houston (eventually landing in enemy territory: LA). I think we lost Rich and David that year, although it may have been 2004. Benito stuck around, and we got Marquis Grissom, who brought comfort and joy. Rob Nenn. Bye bye. I came too late to the game to enjoy his legend.
What's obvious to me—a lowly neophyte fan—is that the Giants have been in decline since Felipe Alou took the reins. They coasted on their still-intact magnificence in 2003, showed cracks in the armor in 2004, and this year just floundered. Blame it on Barry? No. Blame it on a lack of preparedness.
As bull-headed as Frank Robinson can be, as crafty as Dusty Baker can be, their plan—for better or worse—is usually evident. These are men with average teams trying to make something special happen. Playoff special. Felipe Alou? I don't know what he's trying to do. I just know that in game after game after game, I've watched him burn through pitchers (boot camp for the bullpen? don't we have the minor leagues for that?) and work awkwardly with some of the losers Brian Sabean has thrown his way.
Felipe Alou has failed San Francisco and should be removed from his post. Brian Sabean has shown no acumen for nimble management and is so ball-and-chained by his reliance on Barry Bonds that he can't be trusted to make the best decisions for a team that's in trouble even when the slugger's around to ignite the offense.
The 2005 season was cathartic in a number of ways. Now four years into baseball and Giants fandom, I'm hooked for good. Regardless of what happens to the Giants in 2006.
It was a terrific time to be introduced, head over heels, to the great American game. I used to watch these games with other bar patrons of the Wild Side West in Bernal Heights, whooping and screaming as the Giants plowed yet again toward The Great Year.
That year, Mike Scioscia said: "...That Giant club is more than Barry Bonds. I think that if you are going to try to paint the Series as, 'OK, you hold Barry Bonds down, you win,' I think you are wrong." Bay Area fans grokked the truth in that. We had the most spectacular baseball player in the world playing on our already really good team.
My friend, Rob, a great fan of cheap beer, and I used to play pool at the Wild Side, in plain view of two gigantic TV monitors showing Giants games that spring. Between shots (pool) and shots (booze), he would explain to me why someone was so good or not so good, what was going on, why certain activities and techniques were so important, why others were foolish mistakes. Many evenings, after work, I'd walk down the hill a mere block and a half to sit, gnosh, and talk shit with the Wild Side's baseball fans. Chicks bigger and stronger than me. Old guys who'd been following baseball since World War 2. La-homeys in the most pimpin' sports attire. The old lady who owned the place, cackling over the bar at the TV. Sometimes, when we were in the middle of a good game and starting to feel our booze, the Tamale Lady would show up with her steaming cart of hand-made tamales, inspiring many mmmmm-good responses in her bewitched and slightly drunken audience.
I remember the nights the Giants defeated Atlanta for the division, then St. Louis for the championship, and went on to lose to Anaheim in the World Series. The honking cars and clogged streets—I finally understood them. When I lived in Chicago in the mid-90s, during the reign of the Bulls and Michael Jordan, I never fully appreciated how special those 4 consecutive championships were. Only in the dark of a woman's bar in isolated Bernal Heights did I see a sort of light inherent in the collective roar of people with almost nothing in common.
The following season, Felipe Alou took the coaching reigns after San Francisco unceremoniously and rudely shoved Dusty Baker away. I still don't understand what went on there, only that it involved a lot of enmity and tax records. Dusty moved on to Chicago, Jeff Kent left for Houston (eventually landing in enemy territory: LA). I think we lost Rich and David that year, although it may have been 2004. Benito stuck around, and we got Marquis Grissom, who brought comfort and joy. Rob Nenn. Bye bye. I came too late to the game to enjoy his legend.
What's obvious to me—a lowly neophyte fan—is that the Giants have been in decline since Felipe Alou took the reins. They coasted on their still-intact magnificence in 2003, showed cracks in the armor in 2004, and this year just floundered. Blame it on Barry? No. Blame it on a lack of preparedness.
As bull-headed as Frank Robinson can be, as crafty as Dusty Baker can be, their plan—for better or worse—is usually evident. These are men with average teams trying to make something special happen. Playoff special. Felipe Alou? I don't know what he's trying to do. I just know that in game after game after game, I've watched him burn through pitchers (boot camp for the bullpen? don't we have the minor leagues for that?) and work awkwardly with some of the losers Brian Sabean has thrown his way.
Felipe Alou has failed San Francisco and should be removed from his post. Brian Sabean has shown no acumen for nimble management and is so ball-and-chained by his reliance on Barry Bonds that he can't be trusted to make the best decisions for a team that's in trouble even when the slugger's around to ignite the offense.
The 2005 season was cathartic in a number of ways. Now four years into baseball and Giants fandom, I'm hooked for good. Regardless of what happens to the Giants in 2006.
posted by Andrew at
5:45 PM
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