When the Giants play the Rockies in Coors Field, it’s common to have a feeling of doom. The Giants might have a one- or two-run lead, and suddenly the Rockies get a grounder through the middle, or a fly ball that finds a hole, and you starting thinking, oh, here it comes. Here comes that stupid Coors Field rally that will consume us all and leave us picking pieces of our bullpen out of its stool.
I’d like to think that more than a few Rockies fans felt the same way about Mays Field and San Francisco. When Jonathan Sanchez kept mowing down Rockies, those fans were thinking, oh, here it comes. Here comes that stupid AT&T Park shutdown that will leave the Rockies under a pile of popups and double plays.
So when the Giants lose on a leadoff walk, a misplay from a normally solid fielder that turns into a broken-bat triple, and a 30-hop throw from a good fielder that should have nailed the go-ahead run but ended in the stands instead, it doesn’t depress me. It gives me hope. It makes me think, gee, maybe we’ll do something similarly unexpected at Coors Field in September. It makes me realize that some things aren’t written in stone. Hey, things happen.
And when the Giants hit three ropes in the bottom of the ninth, all caught, it doesn’t make me want to erupt in rage. It makes me think that, hey, our luck’s gotta turn around some time!
So this was a game of hope. This just made this team stronger.
Ahem.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drink until the sun comes up, go to the pound, find the closest animal to a purple triceratops, and set it on fire. After wasting so much venom on Jose Guillen’s shoelaces-tied-together defense, it was Cody Ross who stabbed us in the heart. And Freddy's 34-hop throw -- I just watched the replay -- was the twist of the knife. Maybe if, oh, the Giants could have scored more than a run, all of this wouldn't have mattered. What a crap game.