October 26, 2002. Felix Rodriguez throws the fastball that has haunted my dreams for the past four years. Scott Spiezio takes him deap. The victory shot of Patron that I hold in my right hand turns into elixir to ease my pain. Scott f-in Spiezio.
I still have a hard time going to the ball yard. Every year, I wish for the same thing for my birthday - win a World Series; not to make the playoffs; not to GO to the World Series; WIN a World Series. (See Barry, I get it right).
11 free agents. 12 if you count Alou the Elder. Only 4 players on the current roster have ties to that team: Bonds, Schmidt, Happy, and Worrell. For my mental health, I vote (not that my vote counts for anything) to purge the roster of these fine gentlemen. Not because they don't perform or have value as grown men playing a child's game. They need to go because a clean break is what I need.
Schmidt, Feliz and Worrell are bit players. Their presence on next year team are dependent on what's available and what other parts make up the greater whole. Bonds, however, is the 800-pound, arthritis rubbing, and flax seed oil swallowing gorilla.
Bonds is the most proflific San Francisco sports star ever. Bigger than Rice, Montana, Guerrero (oh wait, we didn't sign Vlad). Sure, Rice and Montana were more loved. But Bonds is Bonds. If he hits home runs, he's happy. You just won't be able to read about it in the local paper - check his website instead. Bonds is the Man. The Man deserves his big paycheck. The Man deserves his home run record. The Man deserves his World Series ring. I guess, two out of three is pretty good, especially in baseball.
If the Giants sign the Man for one more season, it will make me miserable. Undoubtedly, he will get THE record. This could be a proud moment in Giants lore. However, from the first day of spring until the record is reached the press will follow the team. Questions about BALCO will be posed to players who have known Barry for less than a month. Barry will stop talking to the press. The new manager will explain how the team is supportive of their moody slugger while he pursues Baseball's Holy Grail. And when all is said and done after home runs 755 and 756 are hit, what will it mean? Jack shit. 2 home runs, 1 All-Star Game, and 0 World Series Championship t-shirts to buy at the Dugout Store.
I need closure. Brian Sabean, please purge the roster of the people that haunt my soul. Start from scratch. My mind realizes the next title contending team is at least three years away. My heart needs the same realization.
A clean break is what I need.