Exorcising the Demons from the Other Game 6

If the Giants had beat the Yankees, Rays, or Twins in the World Series last year, I think I'd write an open letter to Rangers fans right now, telling them about the kinship I feel with them. As is, there's no way to write that without it coming off as a haughty jerkface. More so, even. They don't want to hear from Giants fans right now. If the Rangers lose tonight, Rangers fans won't want to hear from Giants fans for the next forever or so.

But it's amazing how last night's Game 6 dredged up the memories of our Game 6. Don't even have to mention the year. It was Game 6. For years, it was the scar that was almost nasty enough to be cool, but mostly just a painful memory of how horrid this game can be. The Giants were never going to win the World Series, and the way they lost in 2002 was proof.

Kind of want to make an "It Gets Better" video for LSB teens. 

Instead, it's time to dig out those Game 6 memories. Get over it. The exorcism was last year. There was orange confetti, Rob Schneider was talking to us, a guy pulled his underwear out of his pants in front of Willie Mays ... it was everything we had ever dreamed. And Game 6 helped us appreciate it so much more.

I was living up in Ashland, Oregon at the time. I didn't know any Giants fans, or even baseball fans, really. The isolation is what made me get on the internet for my fix, and that's directly responsible for you doing what you're doing at this exact moment. But it was tough to not have the shared fan experience during the World Series. My wife worked nights, and it was a lot of my October was spent watching a game alone, kicking things as I saw fit.

My wife had a co-worker who said he was a huge Giants fan. She invited him over. The intentions were good, though I would have rather been free from the shackles of being sort-of polite with company over. If I wanted to go full-gibbon and chuck my feces at the screen, well, it should have been my right. As is, I'd have to make small talk.

The guy comes over. In the top of the first, he says this:

Barry Bonds? They still have him? I can't stand that guy.

Oh. He wasn't a Giants fan. He was a guy who had six Will Clark cards as a kid, and 20 years later, figured the Giants were the only team with which he was even slightly aligned. He was not invested in the game at all.

In the top of the second, he was rifling through my CDs, trying to engage me in a conversation about music. I should have disemboweled him with a whiffle bat right then and wrapped his entrails around my throat with a double-windsor. Shoulda coulda woulda.

When Jeff Kent singled home a run to make it 5-0 in the seventh, I started planning the next step. Do I leave to get champagne now? Would it be anticlimactic to pop a bottle ten minutes after the game ended? 

And then, and then, and then. I wanted to put my fist through a window when the Angels took the lead in the eighth. I kind of want to right now when I remember that Tom Goodwin led off the ninth inning for the Giants. But I had to maintain my composure. Probably didn't want to cry and suck my thumb in front of a guy I didn't know, either. It was about as uncomfortable as I've ever been, but mercifully, he just stood up when it was over, said thanks for the game, and left.  

It got better, the whole baseball thing. Just took eight years, but it got better. 

Which brings us to our Game 6 discussion. It's okay. We're all friends here. Tell us where you were, what you were doing. Last night, the post-traumatic stress kicked in as we watched the Rangers fans, so, so sure that they were going to watch a World Series, have their hearts turn into a goo and leak out their ears. It gave me flashbacks. Let's chat about it.

Also, Tom Goodwin pinch-hit for Reggie Sanders with two on and two outs in the sixth inning of Game 7. Down by three. He took the power hitter out for a slap hitter who wasn't good at all. What the shit, Dusty? What the shit?

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