Field of Liens

Before you succumb to nostalgia about a simpler, humbler baseball time, heed the lesson of Vacaville

Comments (0) By Matt Smith Wednesday, Oct 30 2002

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"We don't like being associated with him," Curtis Stocking says of Portner. "Unfortunately, we don't have any other teams in line. There aren't a whole lot of choices."

In Vacaville, residents have pretty much wearied of Bruce Portner's version of the Minor League Myth. Stadium attendance this last year dwindled to a few hundred per game, according to fans I spoke with. (Portner denies this, and says fan interest thrives.) And though Portner is telling anyone who'll listen that he's rounded up a group of investors to finance his bigger, better baseball plans, few locals seem to believe him.

Courtesy of the Vacaville Reporter

Bruce Portner.

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They've learned the same lesson San Francisco fans ought to have learned during the seventh inning of Game 6 of the 2002 World Series, when Giants star pitcher Felix Rodriguez's knees turned to rubber under Angels first baseman Scott Spiezio's arrogant glare and Rodriguez served up a pop-fly, three-run homer that seemed to permanently ruin the Giants' will. It's a lesson inherent in last weekend's death march, when the Giants simply quit playing baseball, though they had a game and a quarter to go.

Vacaville residents now understand, and so should we, that baseball can be a metaphor for life. But it's a horrible one.