Monthly Archives: September 2012

In Which I Break Out My Train Wreck Photo

I feel like my blog posts have just become a glorified forum to project the current magic number in big, flashing letters.

Yes, I just took five minutes to make that GIF.  You’re welcome, guys.   [Apparently, these GIFs don't display right unless you enlarge them.  They're magnificent, so I do encourage you to enlarge them.]

Anyway, today wasn’t actually all that glorious a day in Giants-land.  They lost 10-2 to the Diamondbacks (who are the Diamondbacks, but we’ll just forget about that) and the game was slowly but surely a complete train wreck.

It did give me an opportunity to use my train wreck photo, though, which I don’t think I’ve used all year.  So that’s good.

Aren’t those games the worst?  You actually think they’re salvageable at first and then as time goes by, you restock on the chocolate chips and nail polish as you realize that no, really, this one is not salvageable.  Then you (if you are me, which you aren’t, but whatever) curl up by your radio and kind of let Jon and Dave’s voices lull you into a sleep where you dream of the Giants winning and the Dodgers, of course, losing.

If you’re very lucky, later that evening, that last part becomes a reality.  The Dodgers once again proved their affinity for handing the Giants the division with a nice card on lilac-scented paper and finished up an extra-inning lose to the Cardinals.  So that was the good news.  Magic number shrunk once more.

Yes, I’m using that again.  I figure with all the time I spent on it, I might as well get some mileage out of it.

Diamond Girl

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Santiago Casilla Going to the Moon

This just in:  Santiago Casilla can do absolutely anything.  If I were Hensley Meulens, I would totally take him along when I went to the moon.  (Yep, Bam Bam is going to the moon in a couple years.)

These have roughly the same amount of improbability:

 

In reference to Casilla’s hit, Guillermo Mota mentioned that he hit a homer in his very first Major League at-bat, with the Montreal Expos, about a month after his call-up.  Imagine if you were an Expos fan in those days (if there, eh, were any Expos fans) and you saw that.  You must have thought Mota was like the greatest thing to ever happen to the universe.  Then you realized the terribly disappointing truth.  I kid, I kid…

Beat AZ.  7.5 games up, guys.  7.5 games.  thatisall.

Diamond Girl

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Dusting the Antlers Off

I don’t know at what point “running away with the division” becomes an acceptable phrase, so I’m just going to designate right now as that time, if nobody objects.  (If you do object, feel free to file a complaint with the Emperor, but be forewarned, he’s actually a Sith, even though no one’s noticed yet.)

The Giants magic number has rapidly shrunk down to 13, which just adds to my firm belief that 13 is not an unlucky number and we’ve all been missing out on a great hotel floor for a million odd years.  Besides, they’re leading the division by 7 games.  7 games.  That’s a lot of games.  That’s like 7 million and one pitching changes in Bruce Bochy Land.  The Dodgers chose an awfully good moment to sort of forget how the game of baseball is played and the Giants are taking every advantage of it.

We’re closing in on the last few weeks of the season (what?  When did that happen) and I’ve even started gazing at my antlers, which have been tucked away since last October.  For those of you who are newer to the blog, I have these antlers and it’s my playoff tradition, when the Rangers are in, to wear them around town.  It doesn’t have great shock effect, since I live in the Bay Area where that’s positively normal, but it’s still loads of fun.

That’s my alter ego who’s kind of a ghoul on Halloween and her MLB pumpkins.  Back when she had copious amounts of hair, of course.

I’m dusting my antlers off.  And making “It’s September Inside” jokes until I run out (aka, never) because, seriously, I only get one month out of the year when I can use these.  I stockpile them all year in preparation.  I’m not going to miss an opportunity.

People have already started talking playoff rosters and matchups and to say my grin is infinite would be an understatement.  Buster Posey is generating some serious MVP buzz and getting close to completing his first full Major League season.  Isn’t that crazy?  I smell the postseason.  This thing isn’t over yet, but it’s getting there.  It really is.  I could not be more excited.

Still…

Just kidding.  Sort of.

Diamond Girl

 

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(Yet) Another Open Letter to Bud Selig

Back when I had copious amounts of hair, of course.

Dear Bud Selig,

First of all, I would like to note that our conversations have been feeling a little one-sided lately.  That’s a nice way of saying, Why the heck have you stopped answering my letters?  I put them on lilac-scented paper and everything.  Still, no answers.  I don’t mind you knowing that I feel like you’re blocking me out and that’s pretty hurtful.  Just answer me, okay?  If you’ve forgotten how to mail letters like everyone else in the 21st century, just get your assistant to do it or whatever.

To the point:  I’ve always been annoyed by the process of releasing the next season’s schedule at this time of year.  Kind of random.  Kind of right in the middle of the pennant race.  Or the wild card race.  Or the second wildcard race.  Pennant race is such a passé phrase these days.

But even if you’re going to release them now, why make them so controversial?  Now you may not understand why I find this controversial, but then again, you adore Interleague Play and as you know, I don’t.  So yes, I do find it controversial.  Bordering on offensive.

I used to be able to bear all the Interleague Play kookiness because it ended swiftly, before any of the real stuff kicked off after the All Star Break.  No longer.  Wikipedia and probably you too rationalized it with some mathematical stuff about the Astros moving to the American League necessitating Interleague Play being everywhere all the time, but I don’t really buy it.  “This will force interleague play throughout the season,” it says.  Really?  Force?

I mean, if you must, make the whole first half of the season Interleague, but then stop it there.  Seriously.  And if you’re going to mess with nature – I mean, scheduling – then why not make an effort to make the final month of the season mostly games playing within the division.  Because that’s pretty exciting.  More exciting than the Cubbies and the Mariners facing off in the Saddest Event Since Eli Whiteside Face the Guy With the 10.30 ERA.

(Sure, the Cubbies are going to win the World Series in the next four years.  But probably not next year.  Even Theo Epstein’s magic has some limitations.)

Well, I’ve spouted off long enough.  We actually have some important, non-Interleague games to play, and the Rockies were eliminated from division title contention last night, which just solidified my standing invitation to Dan O’Dowd for tea at my place.  He still hasn’t taken me up on it yet, but maybe when the sting of the elimination wears off…?

Anyhow, get back to me ASAP.  Thanks.

xoxo,

Diamond Girl

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What the Giants and Haikus and the French Police Have in Common

(There were shadows.)

There was Barry Zito being lights-out.

(There were shadows.)

There was the Giants offense actually, you know, hitting.

(There were shadows.)

There were the Dodgers being all, Wtvr, take the division.

(There were shadows.)

There were the Giants being all, Sure, we’ll take it.

5.5 games up, in first place.  Magic number is 17.  The End.

(And yeah, there were shadows.)

I tried to find some significance to the number 17 to regale you all with, but there wasn’t all that much.  All I did discover, courtesy of Wikipedia, is that it’s the number to call for the police in France and the total number of syllables in a haiku, so I guess those are fun(ish) facts.  Or not really.  The Giants need to hurry up and pare down that magic number so I can find all sorts of fantastically weird facts.  We’re heading to Coors Field, aka the Chamber of Horrors, tonight, so weirdness is sure to abound.

(Oh yeah, still shadows.)

But seriously, I have a question: why does ESPN schedule West Coast games so they start at 5 and then spend the entire broadcast talking about the weird start time and the shadows?  That would be like me over-baking my cupcakes every time I make them and then going, Look, look!  So interesting!  They’re burnt!  That would just be weird.  If I had a dollar for every time they mentioned the shadows on the broadcast, I could severely cut into the US deficit or maybe buy a Burberry trench-coat.

Diamond Girl

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