What a difference 24 hours makes. A day ago I was flying high and so were the Giants. Now, pure disgust. If the Giants intend to advance any farther in the postseason derby, their effort on Game Two cannot be repeated.
If going into this series you had told me it would be 1-1 heading back to The Big Phone, I'd have taken it. But to have the opportunity to go up 2-0 and put a foot firmly on Philly's throat get away like this? That's beyond disheartening. If there was a way to screw up, the G-men found it.
It was the misfit Jonathan Sanchez that showed up early, aided by some shaky defense and a home plate umpire with his head parked firmly in his rectum. It was a complete and utter disintigration of the bullpen that turned a tight game into a frustrating evening. And it was, once again, an offense that couldn't score at the Moonlight Bunny Ranch with a fistfull of Fifties that made everything else academic.
Nobody expects the Giants to be perfect. Anyone even considerfing that thought is bound to be disappointed. As I've said repeatedly, this is a very flawed team. They'll go as far as pitching and luck will take them. Game Two featured far too little of both.
This one took a turn for the ugly very early. Three walks from Sanchez in the first inning (including one that wasn't) plus a Giants error gave Philly its first lead of the series. The Giatns aren't buit to come from behind. Heck, they're barely built to come from ahead. Gift runs aren't part of a winning equation.
An assist goes to home plate umpire Dan Iassonga (dissect his last name to get what he was on this night) who swallowed his toungue on, uh, ball four to Rollins. Again I voice my rage against the PitchTrax system. If it works, let it call balls and strikes. If it doesn't, get rid of it. The technology and the umpires rarely agree, and all it's doing now is pissing me off. When an obvious strike results in the go-ahead run, I don't care if it's the first inning of the fourteenth, it ain't right. Human element? Screw that. Let the game be decided by the players, not the opinion of some guy who's still belching that morning's 13th donut.
Another assist to Mike Fontenot, who pretty much played his way out of the line-up with a throwing error in the first and a brain fart in the fourth. Was he waiting for an invitation to catch the damn pop-up? Yes, Sanchez pitched out of the jam, but it added throws to a total that was already excessive.
And can someone besides Cody Ross get a friggin hit? He's homered three times in two games, for a total of three RBIs because nobody else can get on base. All of four hits in Game Two? The only other offense this consistently inept loses on a nightly basis to the Globetrotters.
The top of the line-up simply isn't producing, and the worst offenders are Torres and Huff. Torres is now a glorious 1 for 10 in the NLCS thanks to Game Two's four-strikeout performance. I never thought I'd say this, but it's time to give Rowand another shot. And Bochy might as well give Panda another chance at third for all the good Fontenot has done so far.
It's also clear that the late-season sucess of the bullpen may be been a mirage. We've seen Romo and Ramirez each fold twice and Affledt was ineffective. The Giants basically have Wilson's ulcer-inducing antics, Lopez for a hitter or two, and a lot of chuck and duck. That works against the Padres. This just in, the Phillies have an actual offense.
The Giants have managed to wrest homne-field away from Phildelphia. Now they have to keep it. Cain will take the hill on Tuesday, and there's no reason to think he won't pitch well. But if the Giants don't discover some offense and plug up a leaky defense soon, the arms aren't going to matter.
Pivotal game on Tuesday. I do not believe the Giants can lose it and go on to win the series.
Time to fish or cut bait, guys. Are you the real deal or just a sidebar story to the 2010 season?
We're about to find out.
.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Cody Ross: Superstar
Dear Santa,
Forget everything on my previous Christmas list. Please send me a defibrulator.
It was a battle of aces that didn't live up to the hype. Giants fans are just fine with it. Two long balls from an unlikely source, a nice night from the situational lefty, and a typical nail-biter from the closer has the Giants up 1-0 on Philly in the NLCS. Three wins separate the Giants from the World Series.
This was one of those games that everyone anticipated: Tim Lincecum versus Roy Halladay. The winner gets a leg up, the loser has fallen behind AND burned an outing from its ace. Throw in some drama from an umpire with a strike zone the size of a Republican's heart and it was high drama in the battery tossing capital of America.
Both starters were forced to earn everything they got in Game One. To say plate umpire Darrell Cousins had a tight zone is like saying Tiger Woods had a "disagreement" with Elin. Lincecum and Halladay depend on low strikes. They get pounded when they miss up. Accordingly, both were touched for long balls.
If you're a Philly fan, you expect Ruiz to step up in the playoffs and if told Jayson Werth would homer you'd say, "well, duh!" No once expected this from Cody Ross.
Truth be told, he's the guy who should be breaking out. He's spent his career in that division and had 18 career homers at Philly before this outing. Former Phillie Pat Burrell's RBI blast also should come as no surprise. And it shouldn't stun Giants fans that anyone on this team hit Halladay -- they've done it before. But the Ross story is the perfect metaphor for the 2010 Giants. He's an accident -- a waiver gamble that blew up in the Giants' face. They've picked up the dice, tossed again, and rolled a "7".
Credit to Timmy who didn't have his good stuff but got through seven frames and 113 pitches on guts as much as talent. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.
This is the Giants, circa 2010. Nothing is easy. They're cardiac arrest personified.
The heart is still beating.
.
Forget everything on my previous Christmas list. Please send me a defibrulator.
It was a battle of aces that didn't live up to the hype. Giants fans are just fine with it. Two long balls from an unlikely source, a nice night from the situational lefty, and a typical nail-biter from the closer has the Giants up 1-0 on Philly in the NLCS. Three wins separate the Giants from the World Series.
This was one of those games that everyone anticipated: Tim Lincecum versus Roy Halladay. The winner gets a leg up, the loser has fallen behind AND burned an outing from its ace. Throw in some drama from an umpire with a strike zone the size of a Republican's heart and it was high drama in the battery tossing capital of America.
Both starters were forced to earn everything they got in Game One. To say plate umpire Darrell Cousins had a tight zone is like saying Tiger Woods had a "disagreement" with Elin. Lincecum and Halladay depend on low strikes. They get pounded when they miss up. Accordingly, both were touched for long balls.
If you're a Philly fan, you expect Ruiz to step up in the playoffs and if told Jayson Werth would homer you'd say, "well, duh!" No once expected this from Cody Ross.
Truth be told, he's the guy who should be breaking out. He's spent his career in that division and had 18 career homers at Philly before this outing. Former Phillie Pat Burrell's RBI blast also should come as no surprise. And it shouldn't stun Giants fans that anyone on this team hit Halladay -- they've done it before. But the Ross story is the perfect metaphor for the 2010 Giants. He's an accident -- a waiver gamble that blew up in the Giants' face. They've picked up the dice, tossed again, and rolled a "7".
Credit to Timmy who didn't have his good stuff but got through seven frames and 113 pitches on guts as much as talent. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.
This is the Giants, circa 2010. Nothing is easy. They're cardiac arrest personified.
The heart is still beating.
.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Who Are These Guys?
It has been four days, four glorious days, since the Giants vanquished the Braves. And for four days I've been waiting for Ed Hochuli to emerge from under the hood and take it away. But, upon further review, the Giants are still in the National League Championship Series.
I still find it hard to believe. This team that can't find a cohesive offense, that doesn't have superstar to drive it, that really has no identity at all, is four wins away from the World Series.
Maybe that's the secret.
No Barry Bonds dominating the media. No Jeff Kent spinning yarns about his motorcycle. No "Humm Baby" or "You Gotta Like These Kids" or "Gamer" marketing garbage. These guys just play ball.
Not to say we couldn't use a star or two. A couple of bats in the middle of this line-up could turn this into a truly dominant team. I like the idea of a team as opposed to the proverbial 25 guys in 25 cabs. However, I still don't trust Giants management as far as I could throw the San Francisco Belle.
We had Bonds and Kent -- and nothing to go with them. Brian Sabean has also proven he's willing to go overboard the other way, as the doomed "15 Michael Tuckers instead of one Vlad Guerrero" debacle proved.
Giants baseball is like Steve Martin's comedy. It's not pretty. It's maddening at times. Every game is a life-and-death struggle to make a walk, two ground outs and a dropped pop-up stand for nine innings. Fans know it could easily come apart at any moment.
But there are just four teams left in the drive for the prize, and this bunch of misfits is one of them.
Is it just possible that this team is the equivalent of the 1988 Dodg....Doggies...uh, Dodgeball, ...the team from LA? Everyone remembers Kirk Gibson's Bambi-esque trip around the bases but forgets that that team couldn't hit a lick. Aside from Gibson, that squad's offensive heroes were Mike Davis and Mickey Hatcher.
Cody Ross, anyone?
What does this team really have? Well obviously it's strength is pitching, but take a look at this motley crew. The four horsemen they sent to the hill versus Atlanta were a stringy-haired kid with the body of a 12-year-old who likes to smoke a little herb, a southern boy who looks like Howdy Doody mated with a dump truck, the Puerto Rican Nuke Laloosh, and a mid-season arrival who is just this side of puberty.
That group is augmented by a baby-faced catcher who appears to know everything about baseball except the meaning of the word "fear", and a closer who is a certified ninja wacko. The leaders are two college teammates who nobody wanted. The key bat in the postseason belongs to a guy the Giants didn't want but got stuck with in a botched game of waiver chess.
We won't begin to talk about rally thongs, shag runs masquerading as facial hair, and $126 million dollar benchwarmers.
It works.
God, I hate to say this, but I like this team. They induce ulcers and angina, but they're rarely boring. I just hope the powers that be understand that, regardless of the outcome, there's still work to be done.
I like winning just fine. I like excitement. But next year? Bore me. Bore me all the way to the title.
May it be a boring quest for two in a row.
.
I still find it hard to believe. This team that can't find a cohesive offense, that doesn't have superstar to drive it, that really has no identity at all, is four wins away from the World Series.
Maybe that's the secret.
No Barry Bonds dominating the media. No Jeff Kent spinning yarns about his motorcycle. No "Humm Baby" or "You Gotta Like These Kids" or "Gamer" marketing garbage. These guys just play ball.
Not to say we couldn't use a star or two. A couple of bats in the middle of this line-up could turn this into a truly dominant team. I like the idea of a team as opposed to the proverbial 25 guys in 25 cabs. However, I still don't trust Giants management as far as I could throw the San Francisco Belle.
We had Bonds and Kent -- and nothing to go with them. Brian Sabean has also proven he's willing to go overboard the other way, as the doomed "15 Michael Tuckers instead of one Vlad Guerrero" debacle proved.
Giants baseball is like Steve Martin's comedy. It's not pretty. It's maddening at times. Every game is a life-and-death struggle to make a walk, two ground outs and a dropped pop-up stand for nine innings. Fans know it could easily come apart at any moment.
But there are just four teams left in the drive for the prize, and this bunch of misfits is one of them.
Is it just possible that this team is the equivalent of the 1988 Dodg....Doggies...uh, Dodgeball, ...the team from LA? Everyone remembers Kirk Gibson's Bambi-esque trip around the bases but forgets that that team couldn't hit a lick. Aside from Gibson, that squad's offensive heroes were Mike Davis and Mickey Hatcher.
Cody Ross, anyone?
What does this team really have? Well obviously it's strength is pitching, but take a look at this motley crew. The four horsemen they sent to the hill versus Atlanta were a stringy-haired kid with the body of a 12-year-old who likes to smoke a little herb, a southern boy who looks like Howdy Doody mated with a dump truck, the Puerto Rican Nuke Laloosh, and a mid-season arrival who is just this side of puberty.
That group is augmented by a baby-faced catcher who appears to know everything about baseball except the meaning of the word "fear", and a closer who is a certified ninja wacko. The leaders are two college teammates who nobody wanted. The key bat in the postseason belongs to a guy the Giants didn't want but got stuck with in a botched game of waiver chess.
We won't begin to talk about rally thongs, shag runs masquerading as facial hair, and $126 million dollar benchwarmers.
It works.
God, I hate to say this, but I like this team. They induce ulcers and angina, but they're rarely boring. I just hope the powers that be understand that, regardless of the outcome, there's still work to be done.
I like winning just fine. I like excitement. But next year? Bore me. Bore me all the way to the title.
May it be a boring quest for two in a row.
.
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