In the last few years, San Francisco Giants fans have been treated to every experience they could have ever hoped to have. Last night, however, was a new one. If you ever dreamed of watching a nigh-impossible comeback capped during a torrential rainstorm -- well, there you go.
Last night's ninth-inning downpour transcended "ludicrous" and reached the level of what my Uncle Steve calls "movie shit." In fact, it was reminiscent of the absurd, saturated finale of the abysmal movie The Fan
, in which Wesley Snipes plays a right-handed Barry Bonds, and Robert DeNiro plays Robert DeNiro.
The millionth inaccuracy in that film is that no baseball game would ever be played through send-a-newscaster-in-a-jacket-out-to-get-drenched conditions like that. Well, apparently it happens. So does staving off six consecutive elimination games -- and breaking open the non-literal floodgates via a play in which a batter manages to hit the ball three times with one swing
. These things happen, and the Giants are going to the World Series. Again.
Your humble narrator stumbled across a ticket in a manner almost as improbable as every other improbability described thus far. Five minutes prior to first pitch, an old friend called up and announced two things: His wife had just given birth, and, as a result, a ticket would go to waste if I didn't do the honorable thing. This, too, qualifies as "movie shit."
If you're a Giants fan -- and you've read this far -- you probably know the team won, 9-0, and is set to face Detroit tomorrow, a team with a fearsome assemblage of talented and overweight players. A Game 1 matchup of Justin Verlander vs. Barry Zito doesn't bode well for the home side. But, then again, what has in this postseason? Has anything worked out as planned? On paper -- with the team's starting rotation in flux and offensive MVP Buster Posey hitting below the Mendoza line -- this team ought to have been headed to Hawaii long ago. Instead the World Series opens in rainy San Francisco.
Following the game, workers erected a temporary podium for the awards ceremony, complete with red, white, and blue bunting, in astounding time. Speeches were made, Venezuelan flags were unfurled
, and the sopping fans waddled to the exits. Cries of "Beat Detroit" echoed around the concourse.
Passengers on the N-Judah faced one final obstacle: Through a curious design flaw, those boarding the train were forced to sidestep a concentrated plume of water which poured heavily from above each door. No one seemed to mind, however. Had San Francisco dropped this game, the rainy finish would have made for an over-the-top cinematic show of misery.
This, however, was another movie cliché: a happy ending.