This post was all ready to go with the number 4, but then I went to eat dinner – it was pasta and yes, it was delicious, thanks for asking – and when I came back, the magic number was 3. Which was an awesome end to an awesome dinner.
Also, Pablo Sandoval. And since this state of perpetual winning has reduced me to a non-verbal state, a Kung Fu Panda GIF. (Incidentally, I don’t care what people say. GIF is pronounced as an acronym with a hard G. It just is.)
p.s. Kidding about the non-verbal state. My family wishes, but…
(First a PSA: If you so happen to write a blog or just be in possession of a computer – which I assume you are, if you’re reading this and you’re not an alien reading it on a cool, futuristic bot thing – don’t try at home what I’m doing right now. That is, balancing a laptop and an extremely full and extremely hot mug of orange tea. However, getting this tea will change your life, so I do recommend that.)
Anyhow, I spent yesterday at the beach, mediating on the meaning of life and singing Western States Motel songs at the top of my lungs and when I got home, it was all Giants game time. It did not disappoint. I mean, it did in some ways, but the team did what we’ve come to expect over the past several weeks and they pulled out a win, even though Madison was not nearly at his best and even though it took a million and one relief pitchers. They didn’t tear it up with the bats, either, but in case I’ve failed to mention it before, 2-1 games are my very most favoritest. (Yes, I am of the opinion that for every time we shave a number off of the magic number, I get to use another made-up word.) 2-1 where the Giants win, of course.
It’s a strange time around Major League Baseball, with the second wildcard – which. is. not. wild. – weirdness and all sorts of teams that are in no way, shape or rational form in contention being… in contention. I feel like if I were (totally theoretically) on one of those teams I would feel a little trippy about this whole thing. “Man, we’re 74-74 and we might get into the playoffs? Duuuude,” says Totally Theoretical Cliff Lee.
Or maybe the players aren’t saying that kind of things at all. Maybe they’re too busy sending flowers to Bud Selig to talk about that stuff.
My tea is completely cold by now, so that’s probably my cue to end this. Terribly excited for the game tonight. Isn’t this playoff race wondrous in that it’s not totallycompletely a race anymore? I did not enjoy this part of the 2010 season at all. We have a little more wiggle room right about now. And it’s magical. (Inside. Outside. Everywhere.)
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.
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.
Just kidding. Sort of.
(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.