You people are sick.
Brandon Belt is a rare bright spot in a dark and terrifying world, a lone shot of adrenaline in a powerless lineup, and you want to take him away from us. Shame on you. Shame on your house. Shame on your ancestors.
Are you peddling trade scenarios about him? SHAME. Are you entertaining crackpot trade rumors? SHAME. Have you needled a Belt fan by talking about how he will inevitably be traded? SHAME.
/wags accusatory finger at Grant, Bryan and Doug.
SHAME. SHAME. SHAME.
That said, sure, it could very likely be the case that he gets traded. And yes, that is part of the game. But that doesn’t mean it is going to suck any less for his fans. Fans who have fought tirelessly for him for years, seemingly fighting against a current of misguided hate that was much too strong to counter. And we never wavered.
I have written, extensively, about the bad luck of Brandon Belt. We should have known it would ultimately come to this.
Belt is my favorite baseball player. He’s a lot of people’s favorite player. He was like a security blanket after one of my other favorites, Tim Lincecum, disappeared to live in the woods.
When I heard news on an early spring night in 2016 that my grandfather had passed, I was sitting right at first base, only a handful of rows back at Raley Field as the Giants played the River Cats in an exhibition game. I don’t remember anything about the rest of that game but I remember how I felt a little bit better when Belt was on the field.
And that’s the thing about baseball, everything doesn’t always have to be rational. Everything doesn’t have to be stats and salary caps and pretending to be the GM. Sometimes you just love a player and they make the game fun for you to watch and you want them to stay on the team you root for.
So, later that spring, when the Giants announced Belt’s extension, my choice of a favorite player felt justified. Young and talented enough that he would probably stick around for a while, it felt like it was finally safe to buy a jersey, after many years of uncertainty and arbitration.
OR SO WE WERE LED TO BELIEVE.
That night in 2016 where the Giants broke up a no-hitter and came back to beat the Dodgers with a walk-off home-run by Brandon Crawford also featured a long overdue extension for Belt.
Also, an obligatory point and laugh at Grant moment, brought to you by Peet’s Cold Brew:
The Giants will have their infield together for a long, long time.
That certainly didn’t last long, with Matt Duffy being traded a couple of months later. And we may lose another one, if the rumors of Belt getting traded end up coming true.
Belt, cackling triumphantly in the distance: “LOL BRISBEE. How do you like it?”
Sure, I am rational enough to agree that there are scenarios in which a potential trade involving him could make sense for the Giants and benefit them, maybe even benefit him. But that doesn’t mean I want to hear about it day in and day out like there’s a pack of vultures circling over my head.
Yes, I know it is that time of year and there’s very little other Giants-related things to talk about other than potential moves.
And yes, it is a free country and you are welcome to rosterbate to your heart’s content (though most of us would implore you to please, please find a better term for it).
And, sure, one could argue it’s almost inevitable at this point based on what it seems like the Giants are trying to pursue.
But continuously, and intentionally, trolling Belt fans about potential trades or rumors floating in the abyss is like if you had two dogs, one of them crapped on the floor and you rubbed the other dog’s nose in it. What the hell did we ever do to you?
Or maybe people are doing it to appeal to Belt haters? I don’t know which makes me sadder.
As alluded to in the beginning, either the world is getting more and more terrible every day, or I’m just becoming more aware of it every day as I move into “get off of my lawn” territory, but miss me with the imaginary trades or rumors offered by Kirkland brand sports reporters.
Let me scroll through my social media feed of horrors in peace as we drift closer and closer to the end of civilization. Or spring training. Whichever gets here first.