Monthly Archives: May 2011

There’s No Place Like Home

Haven’t blogged since the Mets series started and now it’s ended, huh?  I’ve been doing important things like making cupcakes from scratch in just under 13 minutes (impressive and superwoman-ish), getting a haircut (always traumatic, but especially so when the stylist tells me about her former orange mohawk as she cuts my hair.  I do not want an orange mohawk and I am never letting you near my head with scissors again.) and general biting of nails and adjusting of radio antennae.  The usual.

The Giants won 2 out of 3 with that iffy Vogelsong outing, beyond stellar Lincecum outing and dismal Sanchez outing.  The offense snapped minimally to life and Aubrey had a 3 hit game (!) as well as an extra inning game winning homer. 

I’d be lying if I said I was ever a huge Mike Fontenot person (remember this fateful day when I was left wondering “who is this guy”?  And not in the good way that Kruk says it.) but he does provide some interesting and right now really great depth.  His contribution- and opportunity to contribute at all, really- is unexpected for sure but in a pleasant sort of way.  But I’m sure I speak for the whole Short People community when I say I wish his height wasn’t brought up every time he hits or fields a ball.  Time to get a new storyline, media.  Height is boring.  And do you really want to pay for his therapy bills when you give him a complex?  Didn’t think so.

It’s sort of a best of times/worst of times moment for the boys in orange and black because as thrilled as I am about Timmy and his pitching for the ages, they’re still under .500 and coming home to face the Rockies.  Who are sort of (sort of?) good right now.  It’s not dramatically awful there are just troublesome things, like Sanchez’s two terrible starts in a row and Vogelsong’s one bad start and the fact that we are all really losing patience with Tejada and Posey had fewer hits than him on the road trip which is disturbing as a factoid.

Enough with the downer-ness.  The season is young and unexpected heroes have already stepped up.  There are more waiting in the wings (Hello, Fresno/Seattle/cities with underrated players who are interested in trading) I think. 

And San Francisco is really darn happy to have you all home, losers or winners.

This is, sadly, not a real cake.  Just a mocked up one.

Diamond Girl

p.s.  Don’t you dare say “that hardly counted as a no-hitter”.  A no-hitter is a no-hitter and they are beautiful, walks and facing terrible teams or not.  My rose-colored glasses magically appear after every one and I glow for a few hours.  Congratulations to Liriano and the Twins.

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The Tale of the Sleeping Offense

Welcome to Offense Castle!

Please come through the hedge quietly and one by one.  I’ll be giving you a tour and telling you the legend behind this castle, but you must promise to talk only in whispers and not venture near The Tower.  We wouldn’t want to wake the Offense up.

Why is the Offense sleeping, you ask? 

It all started when Buster Posey, the King of the Offense went to get a haircut at a place called MagicCuts (the name was a rather bad sign) in San Francisco.  Little did he know that MagicCuts is actually run by an evil witch who is a Dodger fan, originally from Santa Monica.  As she saw Buster outside of the shop, signing autographs and taking pictures she grew very jealous, so as he got his haircut, she conveniently put a spindle in front of him and out of curiosity, he reached out and pricked his finger on it.  The effect was obvious instantly.  He could tell he’d been put under a charm.  So he bravely brandished a baseball bat he happened to be carrying around and said, “What spell have you put on me, Evil Witch?”

The Evil Witch cackled as Evil Witches are wont to do and said, “You and the whole Giants offense will sleep for 100 magic years (in real years, that’s until the All-Star Break) and nothing- and I mean nothing ­- will make the spell go away before it’s time.”  Buster closed his eyes and he could see the whole offense being led on this very path we are now on, through the hedge, to different parts of the castle.  Pablo, to the kitchen and DeRosa to the infirmary and Huff to the parlor.  And he could see himself, being led to the Great Tower in the middle and when he went in, he saw the door being locked securely behind him.

“Isn’t there anything I can do?” Buster cried.

“No.”

Buster went home and called Bruce Bochy and told him what had happened.

“Don’t worry, Buster.”  Bochy said.  And he put on his silver knight helmet and valiantly went out to break the curse and wake the offense up.

***

Yes, that is a parable. (Did anyone think the restaurant scene in The Social Network when they read that, or am I the only geek who’s seen that movie four times and knows every line?)  To say that there is hope for even the deepest sleepers to be awoken.  I am a case in point of that every morning.  New York is the perfect city for a wake-up call (you know, the loudest garbage trucks in the world at 6:00am) and there are some great flights from Fresno to JFK this afternoon. You know what that means.

Diamond Girl

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I Am Starting To Forget How It Feels For the Giants To Be At Home And Other Assorted Depressingness

At nine o’clock this morning I was totally perky with my Madden Girl pumps, a new Banana Republic salmon colored mini and cheerleader ponytail to go be a cheerleader at a student music recital.  At three o’clock this afternoon I was still being a cheerleader, this time sitting in Little League bleachers, totally wilted, unable to think from pollen allergies, with winter boots more suited for a Transylvanian winter than a Bay Area May 1st and hair that was limp as spaghetti.

Which is all to say I only heard about five minutes of today’s game and it was in the third when the Nats tied it up.  Which is not to say that I am a bad luck charm.  Just that it was depressing.  And it seems a lot of other things were depressing about this game.  Aubrey is under .200 (what?  Yes, he is.)  Darren Ford got caught stealing for the second day in a row and the Giants scored a dismal two runs on seven hits with a sore luck losing Matt Cain.  Ugh.  That is all.

Yesterday’s game was one that triggered a brilliant, Giants Baseball: WEIRD! on Twitter (@Mikayla_Trimble) and left me scratching my head.  I don’t even know where to begin with that one.  All I’ll say is that win or lose this team is desperately off and Sabean and Bochy have to be putting their heads (I wouldn’t want my head near Bochy’s.  It’d look really… small.) together and plotting a makeover.  And I’m not talking the kind that includes a fresh t-shirt and hip bangs.  I mean things like figure out how to get Ishi on this team or maybe how to get Whiteside in there a little more often and maybe a pass for a nice little two week vacation to the Seychelles Islands for Aubrey to celebrate his new batting average.  Seriously.  I just think he needs a few days on the bench.  If you’re that adverse to the idea of a few days at the beach.  And it’s beyond unfortunate about Travis.  Gurus, help me out.  I know he’s out of options and off the 40 man, but does that really (or effectively) mean that he can’t rejoin the Major League team for the rest of the season?

Meanwhile the Rangers are in Oakland.  And having some miscommunications through the press.  Again.  What is their problem?

 

They also hit homeruns like there was no tomorrow yesterday and now that it is tomorrow they hit none.

It was a bad day in baseball but the good(ish) news is that the Giants are tied for second place and the Rangers are in first, if only by half a game.  Tomorrow will be better, right? 

And I am so over the roadtrip.  I am starting to forget how it feels for the Giants to be at home.  Not like I miss it.  I just can’t quite remember it.  It’s like when homesickeness turns into that dull ache.  This is getting more depressing by the second.  Have a delicious dinner and we’ll talk again tomorrow.

Diamond Girl

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