E.K. NATION

There is a new number-one worst moment in my Giants-fan life. It's Jeff Conine hitting a soft, catchable fly ball to right field.

Conine hits the ball, and I remember clapping my hands exactly once, and saying out loud, "Yes!"

This was followed by approximately sixty seconds of absolute, mouth-wide-open petrification: No. No...this can not be possible. That did not just happen. A few gut-wrenching minutes later, after Rodriguez's single whizzed into right field, after thinking that we might still get the winning run at the plate, and after Cruz lofted that hot-air-balloon of a throw to the plate: a complete collapse, face down on the floor in front of the TV, everything running through my mind at once, the fly ball, saying to myself we are one strike away, come on!, the single, the throw, the game-winner...

Never in my life have I been so pissed off. Literally: Never. It was the angriest I have ever been. Amazing that a baseball game could have gotten me to the point where I was capable of killing another human being. However, I don't believe in violence against people or animals or other living things, so I did the best I could to release the anger: Breathing intensely through the nose only. Six video tapes, gathered from a box downstairs, all met their destructive fate with fierce spikes to the carpet. Black plastic pieces flew. A quick walk back upstairs to collect myself. Then another jaunt back downstairs to destroy one more video tape.

Then off to the regular spot for some fast beers and a Bailey's shot courtesy of a man I met at the bar who felt bad for me. Discussion with this man about how I won't even be watching the game. He said, no, you've got to stay with them. You've got to have faith. I said, you have the faith, I know we've already lost Game 4 and it's not even going to be played until tomorrow. Then I said I'd have to watch the game anyway, how could I not? Besides, movies don't start until noon around here; where'm I gonna go? Much of the remainder of the evening is lost somewhere in Memoryland.

Game 4 saw the untimely demise of three more video tapes. The dog thought I was mad at her and kept cowering in my girlfriend's lap, but I did my best to pet the dog and tell her I wasn't mad at her but at some other dogs wearing gray baseball uniforms with black and orange trim. After Hammonds' bloop and Snow's slow rumble home and seeing that Rodriguez did indeed hold on to the ball, I just took one deep breath and walked out of the room. No more destruction. The series was over yesterday anyway. Snow's attempt at scoring was all I could have hoped for at that moment: We had the chance to tie it, and we came up just short. It's all I could ask. My despair was tempered a bit by the fact that the last inning of the season was not of the 1-2-3 variety; they almost pulled it off, somehow.

It didn't occur to me until later that the Giants had no home runs in the entire series. I was trying to think, okay, who's gone deep so far? And couldn't think of anyone. Unreal. Did the Giants go four games without going yard all season?

"Rich, why couldn't you have hit the ball just two feet higher???"

It's true what they say: Losing hurts worse than winning feels good. The worst part of losing is having to wonder, for however long a time you feel you need to, what would have been? If Cruz catches the ball, are we into the second round? What if Cruz hadn't left the bases loaded? What if Worrell hadn't thrown I-Rod a meatball with those two strikes and instead gotten him to chase one in the dirt? What if Marquis hadn't run?

Then again, what would have happened if Worrell hadn't made that unbelievable bare-handed save of that comebacker to get the tying run at home plate? At that point I thought the baseball gods had resumed working in our favor. Hell, on the spot I even thought of a clever nickname for Tim: "Patrick Roy"-rrell. Alas, I don't think it'll stick.

Losing in the World Series is easier to take. Much, much easier; no wondering what could have happened. You went to the furthest round you could possibly go, and at that point it's all spelled out. But now, it's like, what would we have done against the Cubs?

And now, what changes will be made?

It hurts terribly to not get to have a Giants-Yankees World Series, which is my baseball dream. It hurts to know that you have to wait until next year, and things may not be as good. It just hurts.

We just have to make sure we devour the cooling lime wedge after we take the harsh tequila shot next time, not before.