Now the truth can finally be told.  If you've seen the movie "Munich", then you have an idea of how it's gone down.  It all started last year, during the 2009 season ...

We let Hunter Pence hit some dingers off us.  It all seemed innocent enough.  But little did most people suspect, we took the damage on purpose ... just so that it would influence the Astros to release Darren Erstad's sorry goggle-wearing, football-punting ass.  

And then some behind the scenes, back-channel phone calls were probably what convinced the Mariners to ship Jarrod Washburn off to the Tigers.  Washburn, of course, promptly proceeded to completely shit the bed, and get his ass shipped out of organized baseball too. 

And a year before he was recalled back to home base, top-secret sleeper agent Pat Burrel snuck around the Tampa Bay clubhouse when no one was around.  The surreptitious muscle relaxant that "The Bat" slipped into Troy Percival's gatorade ensured that Percival's 6.35 ERA would be the last he would record in the majors.

The Giants then topped off a fine 2009 season off by releasing Ramon Ortiz out of our minor league system - sending him on his merry way with a jaunty, "Sure, man, you go ahead, why don't you go and totally embarrass yourself by posting a 6.30 ERA with the Los Angeles Bums of Los Angeles next year." 

The secret plan really heated up and came into fruition in 2010, however.  The plot planners rejoiced when they saw that Garret Anderson was going to play for the Bums this year.  In fact, they were all like, "Here, Misssster Anderson, how bout our Giant pitchers hold you hitless in fifteen at bats.  This will be part of the negative WAR you get on the year, one of the lowest WAR scores in the majors.  In fact, come to think of it, let's also have these events be part of the glorious occasion of the Bums coming in FOURTH PLACE on the season."

Not all the Giants moves in 2010 looked like so smooth and successful, though.  To many people's confusion, the team seemingly needlessly got rid of a couple fine and useful players, Fred Lewis and Kevin Fransden.  To the uninitiated, it seemed that the Giants sent these young warriors off to exile, for nothing in return. 

What most people didn't see, however, was Agent Fred arriving in Toronto to secretly pour tabasco in Jose Molina's jock, making sure that the veteran catcher only OPSed .681.  Agent Fred also got some lumber on John Lackey's pitching (to the tune of a Bonds-ian 1.250 OPS), helping Lackey along to his famously disappointing year with the Red Sox.  Lackey's teammate Scott Schoeneweis never had to face Agent Lewis, but apparently crapped out a 7.90 ERA just out of fear of doing so.

Simultaneously, across the country, Agent Kevin was slipping MDMA into Scot Shield's coffee, so that all that the veteran pitcher could think of all day was, "Why doesn't every one else seem to notice how dreamy and hunky Mike Soscia actually is, all I wanna do is nuzzle his salt n pepper stubble, and, oh another walk, who cares, maybe that will get Mike out here and close to me quicker ...".  This helped ensure that the distracted, love-struck Angels' pitcher had his second straight ERA over 5.

Schields was well on his way towards being involuntarily returned to civilian life.  A few former players who had preceded him into retirement were also suffering from odd misfortunes.  Scott Spezio was shocked at being rejected for yet another auto financing loan, despite his eight patient, persistent, repeated attempts.  Kevin Appier stared incredulously the email from his former fiance; she didn't mention finding anything out about all the hookers, so, Jesus Tapdancing Christ, why would the woman just suddenly dump him and fall in love with a foofy-looking Korean pop star with a single letter name?  And the tech support guys were just as confused as Tim Salmon was.  No one could figure out why, whenever "The King Fish" did a web search from any computer anywhere in the world, his browser would always redirect to an animated gif of Charles Schultz' "5" , doing a janky little shuffle-dance. 

These men were all, understandably, confused by their misfortune.  In a secret secured meeting room, deep within 24 Willie May Plaza, however, knowing smiles of satisfaction were being exchanged. 

The damn thunder sticks had been collected, deflated, shredded, and sent to Sunset Scavenger's plastic recycling.  And the damn monkey was shipped off to a biotech experimentation supply company.

Meanwhile, back between the chalk of the playing fields of the National League, the Gmen's "Main Battle Force" got a bunch of baserunners off Francisco Rodriguez, leading to a couple blown saves, helping cement Frankie's torturous reputation as a head case with the vicious New York press.  The Giants also scored some runs off of Brendan Donnelly, helping him along to the shitty year he had with the Pirates.  And the Giants allowed Adam Kennedy only a few anemic hits (and apparently managed to convince the rest of the NL, when they played the Nats, to also hold Kennedy to a few anemic hits).

That was all good.  Mission accomplished.  Good work, Men. 

But the hardest part was yet to come. 

This is where things got serious ...

DEADLY serious. 

All season long, super-underrated mighty-mite David Eckstein used his heart, spirit, and goddamned playing-the-game-the-right-way grit 'n' guts to battle, tussle, and generally be a complete pain-in-the-ass.  But, as Dirty and the boys lowered the boom on the Madres on the last day of the season, nobody's tears tasted any sweeter than "Eck"'s.

A week later, in the game that eliminated the Braves from the NLDS, MadBum was instructed to strike Troy Glaus out, and generally hold Glaus to an 0-fer.  So sorry, Troy, but MadBum's arm was young and healthy (ie not hanging on by its final tendon).  So: hope you enjoyed sitting there in the dugout after the game, ELIMINATED.

We then of course proceeded to kick the Phillies' ass, just cuz they were in the way.

And now ... after years of patient planning and execution ... it has all almost come to fruition ... the plan is almost complete ... one final step to go ...

BENGIE: WE GOT YOUR T-SHIRT, YOU DONE LEFT FINGERPRINTS AND ALL, YOU DON HAVE TO COME AND CONFESS, WE LOOKIN FOR YOU.  YOU CAN'T HIDE, AND (LORD KNOWS) YOU CAN'T RUN.