Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Can't Lose Now
The game tonight started off well enough, what with Barry's 3-run jack in the first. The drunken rowdy mini-mob of Giants fans gathering in the back of the right-field bleachers had plenty to say about it. And also about the Padres players. Their chants seemed to go, "What do we think of So-And-So? He's...a...bum!" Security assembled a strike team quickly in case a beer brawl broke out. None did. Padres fans seemed to accept the enemy on their home turf and refused to do much cheering back. Not to counter the Giants fans, or, as it turned out, to express approval of the on-field happenings, unless prompted by the scoreboard's imploring, "Make Some Noise!"
What followed Bonds' home run, an absolute rocket to the opposite field, was a collapse into the ass of reciprocity. "Well, we scored three in the first, I don't see why no one else should get to share in the jollity!" Three different leads in four innings, all given up in record time, the third time coming after J.T. Snow couldn't handle a simple ground ball that would have been the third out of the inning. Next batter: Grand Slam, and for all intents and purposes, Game Over, even though it was only the fourth. (It was frustrating to see that ball go into the short porch jutting out into right field, the only goddamn spot on the field where it would have been a home run.) We could tell, from our lofty perch in the upper deck, that the Giants would be shut down the rest of the night, and they were indeed. Even the few hard-hit grounders that remained were scooped up nicely by the Friars and turned into empty outs.
We also experienced our first Trevor Time, and though we've been a fan of "Hells Bells" for a while now, we will never listen to that song the same way again.
So, four games down, five games left, no more losing. We'll be back at Petco tomorrow. Maybe we will see our first-ever division-clinching ballgame live in person, but we hope not. And wouldn't it be silly to see it actually happen tomorrow: A team clinches the division title on the same day that they reach .500. But maybe those italics were premature: If the Giants win tomorrow, then the Padres could clinch on Thursday with a sub-.500 record. Chilling, isn't it? Wild-card fans, you reap what you sow.
What followed Bonds' home run, an absolute rocket to the opposite field, was a collapse into the ass of reciprocity. "Well, we scored three in the first, I don't see why no one else should get to share in the jollity!" Three different leads in four innings, all given up in record time, the third time coming after J.T. Snow couldn't handle a simple ground ball that would have been the third out of the inning. Next batter: Grand Slam, and for all intents and purposes, Game Over, even though it was only the fourth. (It was frustrating to see that ball go into the short porch jutting out into right field, the only goddamn spot on the field where it would have been a home run.) We could tell, from our lofty perch in the upper deck, that the Giants would be shut down the rest of the night, and they were indeed. Even the few hard-hit grounders that remained were scooped up nicely by the Friars and turned into empty outs.
We also experienced our first Trevor Time, and though we've been a fan of "Hells Bells" for a while now, we will never listen to that song the same way again.
So, four games down, five games left, no more losing. We'll be back at Petco tomorrow. Maybe we will see our first-ever division-clinching ballgame live in person, but we hope not. And wouldn't it be silly to see it actually happen tomorrow: A team clinches the division title on the same day that they reach .500. But maybe those italics were premature: If the Giants win tomorrow, then the Padres could clinch on Thursday with a sub-.500 record. Chilling, isn't it? Wild-card fans, you reap what you sow.
