6-4-3: Versteckte Begeisterung
by Gary Huckabay
So the team I hate the most in MLB is in the World Series. The Giants, who give
me a few moments of joy with every error, and a sustained grin for upwards of 30
seconds with each loss, have earned the right to battle Disney's Hustlin' White
Guys™ in the World Series. I should be beside myself with either disdain
or apathy.
And yet, I find myself actually cheering a player I don't like (Kenny
Lofton), when he rakes a clean single to right to put a team I don't like
(the f'ing Giants) in the postseason. I'm actually happy the Giants are
in the jewel of the postseason.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Well, the complete answer to that question would probably be too long and
detailed to get into, and I'm pretty sure the DSM-IV is copyrighted, so let's
limit the scope of the question to matters related to baseball.
I've spent the last few hours trying to figure out how my heart or hearts could
betray me so. I'm an unabashed A's fan. If technology allowed, I'd have an
animated tattoo of the last out of the 1989 series. I've got a few theories
about this particular phenomenon, and they have the added benefit of raising my
opinion of humanity in general, so let's have a peek...
I grew up in the bay area, and as much as I hate to admit it, it's Giant
country. I have a bunch of friends who are walking around with that goofy
cheshire grin that indicates that their club is still going to be playing this
weekend. I haven't seen most of them in years, but I know they're happy, and
thinking about them brings back some tremendous memories. I know Tim
Underwood's pumped about the series, even though I haven't seen him in over 10
years. And as I thought about Tim and his ratty-ass, sweatmarked Giants cap, I
remembered some really great times we had so many years ago. I think of friends
like Tod Johnson, Brian Jones, Bryce Lynn, Christian DuVair, our own Michael
Wolverton, the people at EEEEEE!!!!, and the
generous people in the Giants' front office who have helped us at BP, and I'm
glad that they're getting to
enjoy the ride.
Baseball is many things to many people, but I think that for almost everyone,
it's a guide back to memories or friends that make you reflexively smile.
I don't really know why this is the case. I live about 30 miles from SF as the
crow flies, in a small town near Mt. Diablo called Clayton. I worked in SF two
years ago, and the commute was bad enough to make me leave a great group of very
talented people. On the worst mornings, for those of you live in the area, I
would turn onto Ygnacio Valley Road, and already be in line for the toll plaza
on the Bay Bridge. It was nothing short of ghastly, soul-devouring tedium.
Additionally, I don't even particularly like San Francisco. I'm not nearly hip
enough to see the charm in cranky, deranged derelicts conducting their own
"4th Olympiad of Bodily Functions for Distance." Yes, it's a beautiful
city, and there's an energy to it that you just don't find in other places, but
there's just too many damn people, excessive self-importance, and not enough
parking spaces. The Dim Sum isn't enough to compensate for the myriad of
problems, at least for me.
And yet, I feel a kind of geographic kinship with SF and Peninsula residents,
even though I think I've spent more time in San Diego during the last 12 months
than I have in San Francisco. I feel like the Giants are bearing some sort of
standard for Northern California or something. Maybe this is just evidence that
I'm simple minded and easily pulled into cult-like behavior. C'est La Vie.
First... I'd like to see Barry Bonds get a ring. During the last three
years, I've had more inside access, and I'm more convinced than ever that the
mainstream has an irrational dislike of the guy. I just don't get it.
I believe Bonds is the Best Player Ever to play Major League Baseball, and I
like the idea of the Best Player Ever having a ring. That kind of simple
relationship makes my world a little more manageable. The cognitive dissonance
of Alex Rodriguez somehow being undeserving of the MVP because he's on a
team where he's probably also in the top 8-10 pitchers is still ruining my
mornings. I can be pretty fragile that way.
Second... I like the way the Giants are run. They don't make player personnel
assessments the way I do, but they have a plan, a solid business plan and
management team, built their own ballpark (to a very large extent), and put
together a really great experience for people to come out to the park. That
should be rewarded.
I haven't gone completely overboard. I love baseball, and I think we all have
some hardwiring in our brains that makes us pick a side, for whatever reasons
may fall from the ether. Maybe, like most sane Americans, I have a deep and
abiding fear and loathing of Disney or something. Who knows? I know that I'll
have to suffer some sort of karmic turnaround because of this betrayal of my
beloved A's. Some horrible fate will undoubtedly come crashing down because of
my transgression. Fortunately, I know Billy Beane isn't going to go out and
acquire J.T. Snow or something.
But as much as I hate to admit it, I'm actually rooting for the Giants. Not with
the enthusiasm of someone who actually likes them, but quietly, almost
guiltily. It's weird how new loyalties can pop up in the postseason, and it's
another reason why this is such a great game.
If you're a Red Sox fan whose loyalties switch to the Yankees during the
postseason, or a sinner of similar eminence, send me your confessional. Who
could be better at absolution than a fellow sinner?
Gary Huckabay is an author of Baseball Prospectus. You can contact him by
clicking here.