Category: SF Giants

Misremembered

It’s now firmly a part of our lexicon. Thank you Roger freaking Clemens.

I listened to bits and pieces of his testimony before Congress Wednesday regarding his use of illegal and banned substances and was shocked and appalled by the behavior on both sides of the conversation.

The day was all about tossing people under the bus.

Chuck Knoblauch, a bit player at best, tossed Clemens under.

Andy Pettitte, Clemens supposed best friend, whoosh, tossed Clemens under the bus.

And then Clemens went ahead and tossed his wife right on under.

Good times.

And in the finest hour, Clemens said that Pettitte, his best friend, must have “misremembered” when he told investigators that Clemens had used performance enhancing substances.

And the Congressmen were no better firing off supposition and innuendo. What we have here is a modern day McCarthy trial. These Congressmen are so keen to go after the superstars that they’ll listen to any sub-Mendoza Line player who got name checked in the Mitchell Report who wants to squeal out names in order to distance themselves from the circus.

Re-freaking-diculous.

It was bad what they did to Bonds. It’s bad what they are doing to Clemens. It’s bad for baseball.

And in the end, baseball will prevail. Because it will.

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”

–Terence Mann, Field of Dreams.

Glad I watched this movie again last week. Because I need to believe again in the magic of the game I love.

Am I a baseball purist that expects each player to be pristine and au natural? No. But do I condone steroids? No.

I just want to put this awful witch hunt behind us and move on.

Did anyone even notice that Giants pitchers and catchers reported to Spring Training, uh, Wednesday?

I choose to think about that. And pray to whichever entity you choose that I can “misremember” the events of this week.

Now. Gentlemen, play ball.

Photo by Karen Fayeth

Sportsmanship! Feh!

From today’s Las Cruces Sun News:

“The Western Athletic Conference has issued a warning to all WAC members that any pre-meditated chants that contain vulgar or offensive language will result in a technical foul called against the home team.”

(full article)

You know what, that fine Aggie tradition of shouting “Nice shot, ass–le” at basketball games dates back to my college years. Like, uh, back to the early 90’s.

I started out this blog post going to rant about the demolition of a tradition. But actually, that crowd chant was pretty juvenile back in ’91 (which was why it was fun), but it’s probably time to move it along to something new. And even more juvenile.

Not sure I buy into a Technical Foul to the home team. That’s an expensive penalty, and how are they supposed to corral their own fans, anyway? I guess when the fans lose a game because of the T, they’ll pipe down.

So ok. It’s lame that the WAC is governing this NOW, some twenty years later. They really should have gotten in front of it back then. I mean, you can *hear* it on television! Seems hard to curb this now. But ok, it’s part of the rules now.

So I’ll let this one go. But I’ll *never* let go of the grand SF Giants fans in the bleachers tradition of “what’s the matter with < insert name of opposing team's outfielder here >??……He’s. A. BUM!”

Convergence

The two halves of me, the New Mexico girl living in California (and a ragin’ Giants baseball fan) collided today.

For Christmas someone gave me a page-a-day Giants and baseball trivia calendar.

The entry for January 14, 2008:

“Who is the only National Baseball Hall of Famer born in New Mexico.”

Wha! I didn’t even know we had one!

The answer:

Ralph Kiner is his name, he was born in Santa Rita and he played most for the Pittsburgh Pirates. He’s now a broadcaster for the Mets.

Oh Fair New Mexico, how I love to learn your little secrets.

Image via Wikipedia.

Hey, now that’s cool!

It’s no secret I’m a bit of a baseball fan. My team’s season ended in a blaze of humiliation, some 18 games out of first place. To make it worse, two teams from our division, the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Colorado Rockies made to the post season.

Oh the pain of watching the competition extend their season.

Been having a hard time deciding who to root for in post-season games. I think I’m loving the under-dog, whooda-thunkit magic season of the Rockies. So in the NL, they are my team (not a tough decision given the lightening in a bottle they have working), especially after rolling over the Diamondbacks in four straight games.

In the AL, it’s harder to decide. I mean, I like the Indians, they are a ne’er do well and know the pain, like my beloved Giants, of going to the World Series and coming home empty handed. I have a good friend who is from Cleveland so out of respect to her, I’ve been mostly cheering on the Indians. However, in previous years, I’ve been a post-season Red Sox fan. So I guess all this is by way of saying I’m waffling…..

In today’s ABQjournal I read an interesting article that I’m now taking into account while sitting on the AL fence.

While the young man mentioned in the article, Jacoby Ellsbury, isn’t a New Mexico native (cuz then I’d be off the fence and on his side in heartbeat), he does have ties to New Mexico.

Plus I just think it’s pretty damn cool that he’s the first Native American of Navajo descent to play in the majors. He was called up to Boston in August when Coco Crisp went out with an injury and so wowed critics and fans that Francona added him to the 40-man roster in September. Now in his first year in the bigs, he’s playing on a post-season team trying to get to the World Series. He’s been praised for both his speed and enthusiasm and is a pretty good hitter.

Damn, that rocks. Gonna have to squint at the screen a little more now to get a look at this up-and-comer. Maybe he can log some playing time in the ALCS and I’ll just have to root for him.

I always did love a story of someone living the dream.

It’s going away, isn’t it?

My friend. My companion. That comfort at the end of a long day’s work, driving home, watching the sun go down, laughing, cheering, listening. It’s leaving me again, just as the world turns cold. It always leaves me just when the sun starts setting sooner, when the chill rolls in, when the leaves turn. Just when I need it the most, it’s gone.

My old friend and joy, baseball, is leaving me again this weekend.

The San Francisco Giants played their last home game of 2007 last night, made all the more bittersweet as, after fifteen crazy years, it was the last game Barry Bonds will play in a Giants uniform.

It was year of agony and ecstasy.

Ecstasy: The San Jose Giants, the Minor League Single A affiliate, and a group of young ‘uns near and dear to my heart performed a miracle. Coming on strong in the first half and falling off hard in the second half, they still earned their way into the playoffs and prevailed. They are the 2007 California League Champions. They played an amazing post season and just brutalized Lake Elsinore in game 5, the deciding game. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. This was a hard working team of guys who learned how to win, and a tip of the cap to manager Lenn Sakata for taking yet another team to the post season.

Agony: Their big brothers to the North, however, didn’t fare so well. With three games left, they’ve lost 89 games and are a gut-turning 18.5 games out of first place.

This was the season that Bonds broke the all-time homerun record, walloping 756 over the walls and into the history books. But all the media glare, both positive and negative, had an impact on the other 24 guys on the roster. Starting pitching was ok (I won’t “go there” about the pitiful year Barry Zito had…I just…can’t…), the bullpen was ridiculous and hitting was lame. They went up there with sad and tired bats. And our star catcher bitched about it to the press.

It was not a glorious year. It’s the latest in all the depressing seasons we’ve endured after the joys (and pain) of the 2002 World Series.

Ownership says 2008 is a “rebuilding” year. That means some young kids, some no names, and no hope of a post season for at least a couple more years.

But even in the agony of this terrible season, it was there. Baseball was on the radio every night, 162 games a year. The bases were still 90 feet apart and it was still 60 feet, six inches from mound to plate. The Umps still missed calls, players were plunked, miracles were performed and for me, all was all right with the world.

I had a day yesterday for the record books, and as I drove home, looking into the setting sun, sad, mad, exhausted, apathetic, beat down, and depressed as hell, I reached out and touched the “power” button on my radio, and suddenly Jon Miller’s voice boomed out from my radio speakers, “a called strike one!” and I left behind my troubles. My sorrow. My bone wearying exhaustion and I listened to the game. Smiling at strikes, frowning at balls and batting my hand on the steering wheel when the boys in orange and black got a hit and cheering loudly in my car.

I don’t give a rip about any of the teams in the post-season, although I may watch a few games. It’s not the same when it isn’t your team fighting it out.

*sigh* Now what? My baseball friend becomes a hockey fan in the off-season. I like hockey, but not with that fever reserved for baseball.

Guess instead, it’s time to start thinking about what in the hell I’m going to write 50,000 words about for the annual NaNoWriMo.

Heh…three years ago I wrote a baseball book……