For the second time in three seasons the Giants are San Francisco’s treat. They’ve won four National League pennants since Los Angeles’ last one in 1988, they’ve been the better organization for a quarter of a century, and Bruce Bochy goes for another World Series victory beginning Wednesday night at AT&T Park.
And good Dodger fans everywhere mourn. Cardinals fans do too, I suppose, but who the bleep cares about them this evening? Their team choked, plain and simple, and by barely squeaking into the playoffs on the back of something known only as the “second wild card,” didn’t deserve a chance to repeat anyway.
The debate is over. Frisco won going away and is the class of the NL, its best team by plenty and a worthy league representative. My friends and I will root against them with every fiber of our being, but they are a worthy representative.
San Francisco finishes the playoffs with its league’s best manager, its likely-MVP in Buster Posey, and sports a little godsend in Marco Scutaro. As much as I wanted him in Blue, I have no idea what’s gotten into the 36-year old infielder. Not a clue.
I do know this, however: teams win championships when surprisingly, nay, unexplainably-good things happen. And Scutaro qualifies on that score.
The Giants face Detroit’s Tigers with the stronger starting pitching, the better closer and home field advantage, unfairly-earned courtesy of cheating drug-abusing castaway Melky Cabrera. And they’re probably coming home with another ring. Or 25 rings, to be exact.
But look – and I say this proudly – I hate the Giants. I absolutely despise them. I hated them the day I was born, I’ve hated them my entire life, I hate them today, and there will be no apology tour for my saying so.
Forget the ridiculous pull-for-your-league crap, and the even more inane but-they’re-the-California-team idea. San Francisco is 400 miles from L.A., and as far as our respective baseball teams are concerned, that’s too close for my taste.
Giants fans hate us (and our city) to a greater degree – a much greater degree – than we do them and theirs (in fact, Angelinos generally love San Francisco, and aside from the Giants, what’s not to love?). To that point no one in either city will argue. So it’s the least I can do, as I congratulate them on their crown, is wish them unwell.
Good luck in the Series, evil Halloween-colored ones. May you be swept in as humiliating fashion as can possible by. May Justin Verlander blow you away while Miguel Cabrera and Prince Fielder splash hit you to Kingdom Come.
Lose, San Francisco. Lose badly. May you be 56 years between championships, as is your penchant. Lose, lose, lose, lose, lose. And we’ll see you at Dodger Stadium in April.