The San Francisco Giants are cooking with spit and dogmatism. From the ashes of injury rashes and the gut-punching loss of Jung Hoo Lee, this team has survived. It has clawed through mirages to a green horizon, a fertile land arrived upon by a stubborn refusal to wallow in a desert of mediocrity.
This is baseball we are talking about. This is a game which has suffered at the hands of crusty, old owners clutching pearls and pennies and allowing ghouls like John Fisher to flourish by picking their pockets and never reaching into his own. It is a game which has struggled to adapt to the modern era, the all-too-momentary pace of the world, on a planet that seems to be spinning ever quicker.
These last two weeks of Giants baseball have been a rejection of that feeling.
That feeling that the Giants might just suck now. That the Giants’ old way of doing things might never return. That their prospects aren’t good enough. That even if their prospects were good enough, they wouldn’t get the chance. That their offseason signings were duds. That we would all have to suffer collectively through these late spring and summer months and accept the reality that dreary baseball is the norm. That Farhan Zaidi’s wheel of #ForeverGiants filled with nameless faces would spin eternally. That this is just the game now.
The Giants hocked a biblical, intransigent loogie upon that sentiment as they have marauded to 10 wins in their last 12 games.
Donning those you-want-to-hate-them-but-cant City Connects – the ones that have become an armor of invulnerability since their 2021 debuts, the likes of which not even which Fanatics could ruin after their long-delayed arrival – they stumped the MLB-best Philadelphia Phillies and Zack Wheeler with a fog magic bullpen-only performance in a 1-0 shutout win.
They found quarters and dimes and one of those green gum-stuck nickels in their couch cushions and lint-filled pockets and cashed them in at the snack bar for a pitcher with a career 6.96 ERA. Nice.
A man named Spencer Howard, who is a statistically, objectively bad pitcher, got a call at 11 a.m. that the Giants needed him. Yes, him. Against the Phillies. Go get 'em, kid. And he did. For four shutout innings. Plus two from Sean Hjelle, three from the Rogers brothers, and one from Erik Miller.
The Giants may not sweep the Phillies Wednesday afternoon. They are still just 29-27 with plenty of questions to answer. But no one should be surprised if they do. Nor should anyone be surprised if they can then vanquish the Yankees: a talent-glutted, stuffy organization, a living manifestation of all that is buttoned-up and old moneyed and outdated in this world.
You can be certain the park will be buzzing for this late May Wednesday matinee. It is a reflection of the hope that this old hub of San Francisco, which seemed to disappear from us all, is crawling back to life. There is a sense that people care again, that there is life within the Giants.
That is the result of a team that is trying, desperately, to win every day. This is a team inspired by youth, the green-eared optimism which does yet know it is not supposed to feel tired.
This is a team that is willing to bury its face in the dirt and grind out ugly at-bats and hit sac flies and fill in the middle and late innings with desperate performances from relievers clinging to their last shot at life in the majors.
These are the fever dreams that get the espresso-addled Dan Campbells of the world fired up to hunt kneecaps. These are the performances which connect with a city and demands of its denizens to get their rears in seats. Because for the first time in too long, they appear willing to give them something to care about.
Most Popular
Comments / 0