When Posey hit the grand slam, it had the feel of something you'd find on a scroll, or carved into a rune, deep in a desert cave.
And verily, when young Buster Posey approached yon plate
The foul creature did smirk and snarl, his lip curleth up over his incisor
And Buster did not waver, and he sent yon meatball ten parasangs into the Ohio light
There was much rejoicing, and thy foul Latos turned into a pillar of jerk
Which he already was, instead becoming a sad pillar of jerk, verily
There was so much joy. So much mirth. Buster Posey, the MVP, the everything of this team for the past seasons, for much, much better and much, much worse, had slain the Latos.
And there was more baseball. Hold on, there, Russ Hodges.
It didn't seem fair that there was more baseball. That was a walk-off, right? Posey slew the Latos, and … I mean, it was over, right? Can we can an impartial arbiter in here?
It was not over. And if you ever had a doubt about your ability to feel about the Giants after 2010, if you were wondering if you could become the same blubbering mess you were when Ryan Howard struck out looking, the answer is yes. This one did it. There you go. Proof. Baseball can still give you that awful, beautiful, completely unnecessary, wholly necessary feeling.
The Reds had the tying run up in each of the last four innings. They had the winning run up in the ninth. The little filmstrip in your mind went nuts, playing all of the different ways the Reds could break your heart. You could see the hanging slider, the fastball up in the zone. You were trying to keep it out of your mind like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but the thoughts kept breaking down your defenses.
You know the game ended on a hanging slider, right? Goodness.
Three games on the road. It doesn't seem that bizarre when you strip it of its heft. Just a silly old three-game winning streak during a road trip. That wasn't impossible. It wouldn't merit front-page consideration in the New York Times, which was the yardstick I clutched to my chest after the Game 2 loss. It would have been implausible, not impossible.
Now we can sit back and realize how absurd that all was. The Giants were down 0-2, and they were going on the road. They were going into the park against one of the best teams in baseball. They'd have to face arch-nemesis Mat Latos. They looked like the worst team on the planet during the Game 2 loss. They were absolutely abused by Bronson Arroyo, whose breaking balls are the Bronson Arroyo singing of Bronson Arroyo pitches.
Tim Lincecum will get a chance to start. Ryan Vogelsong will start another postseason game. Matt Cain will hopefully find what it was he lost between the fourth and fifth innings. Sergio Romo's arm will rest, as will Madison Bumgarner's.
What just happened? No idea. The Giants' long season is over, and they emerged victorious, as they …
Wait, two more? If we're lucky?
what did we ask for oh man oh no what is going on this is the worstbest or the bestworst thing in the world what is happenninnnnng oh man oh no