The crack of the bat snaps across the field, the white ball rolls along the grass through the gap, and the runner rounds first before stopping short, not wanting to force his luck. He removes his shin guard and his elbow pad, passing it over to the first base coach. Then he crosses himself before kissing the gold crucifix hanging from his neck and pointing up towards the heavens. He thinks he has been blessed by his God. He thinks that Jesus has taken a break from his schedule to shine his holy influence upon the ballpark and allow his player to reach base.
What is it about the game of baseball? Entire teams of men can disappear into a dugout after a game and come out the following day an entirely different team, the same human beings playing the same positions, yet changed. What was a winning team the day before is now a losing one. What was a line up completely devoid of talent and hope twenty four hours previous is now a team of heroes, running down the ball in key defensive moments and hitting in the clutch. Unlike most other sports, talent will only take you so far in baseball. To get to where you want to be as a team you must have the blessing of those invisible figures that oversee all of the joy and tragedy that takes place on the field, the almighty Baseball Gods.
Within the last nine months, fans of the San Francisco Giants have witnessed their team go from being the chosen ones of these mysterious Gods to becoming the doormat that said Gods love to wipe their dirty, shitty feet on over and over again. Last October we watched as the Gods used their influence to drag the Giants up from the depths of despair two games down in the NLDS in Cincinnati, and then again when they were three games back against the St. Louis Cardinals in the NLCS. The Giants showed resolve and the Gods rewarded them with the 2012 World Series Championship. Such comebacks are not native to the world of man. This was the will of the mighty Baseball Gods, bringing their sense of justice to the plain of human drama.
The Giants made little to no changes over the off season, fielding almost the exact team this spring that they had in the World Series, the only real difference being the Champion patch on the sleeves of their uniforms. As the 2013 season started up, things seemed alright, they won some and lost some, and with such a horrible division as the NL West, it would only be a matter of time before they ran away with it and made another go at a third ring in four years.
The Gods were watching the whole time. They were listening. They listened as the fans boasted of “chemistry”, a chemistry that no team could buy, not even the Los Angeles Dodgers, who were burning whole piles of money in Chavez Ravine. They listened as the fans boasted of their team playing better “fundamental baseball”, and they watched as the fans spent millions of dollars on hats, and bobble heads, and Lou Seal shirts, and orange and black car rugs, and panda and giraffe hats for their children. The Gods watched and listened and could sense the arrogance of entitlement coming from the City by the Bay. The Gods were not pleased.
They reached out and placed the curse on the Giants when the team flew into Toronto to play the Blue Jays on May 14th. The Gods thought this a fitting place because it was here that the Giants would face off against their former team mate, Melky Cabrera, the man who had so much to do with their winning season before being suspended for high levels of testosterone. The Gods knew that some Giant fans thought their team would have made the World Series without Cabrera, so the Gods themselves floated down to the astroturf, and when the ball came to a Giant infielder they slapped it away, or made it bounce in the wrong direction.
The Giants were laughed out of Toronto, and so the skid began it's slow beginning. The Giants began to lose, more often than not. They would win, on occasion, but that would no longer be the norm. The norm was now to lose, and not just lose in the way a champion team loses, with heart, but to lose the way a minor league team loses, with bad pitching, barrages of ground and fly outs, and no hits. The tough times went on for days, then weeks, then a full month. With it came injury after injury, not only to the player’s limbs but to their hearts as well. When both fans and players thought things couldn’t get any worse, the Gods laughed, and had Homer Bailey of the Reds throw a no hitter against the Giants on Tuesday July 2nd.
As I write this on July 7th the curse is far from removed. Just this afternoon, Chad Gaudin pitched with skill and cunning for seven innings to keep a game against the Dodgers close, 1 to 1. The Gods looked down and took note of the sold out crowd, the feeling of desperation in the stands, and they chuckled, allowing things to fall apart in the top of the ninth when the Dodgers scored three runs to win the game. Hearts were broken, whole world views cracked, and tiny orange panda hats were left on the street to be spit and stepped upon.
The questions is: what can be done? What can we, as fans and mere mortals, do against these cruel Gods who clearly enjoy the evaporation of hope. The truth is that there is very little that can be done. No trade or multi million dollar purchase can solve this problem. It is only when we have been drained of all hope and interest that the Gods may decide to change the direction of the wind and allow this team to win again.
We must spend less time looking into the mirror at our cute orange and black outfits that we have picked out for Orange Fridays, and more up to the heavens in awe, where the Baseball Gods reside.
07-07-13
No comments:
Post a Comment