Ending torture

Turns out it was time. Not for the Texas Rangers, but for the San Francisco Giants. Ironically enough, theirs was the longer drought. They've been waiting a long time in the Bay Area. Forever, in fact. And I'm sure they'll tell us Monday night was well worth the wait.

From the San Francisco Chronicle:

"The Giants serenaded their thirsty fans with the perfect anthem before the first pitch of the 2010 World Series. The song they piped through AT&T Park was U2's 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.'

"The search lasted more than half a century and seemed so futile at times. Finally, the team and its long-pained fans have found what they were looking for. For the first time since the Giants moved to San Francisco in 1958, they are the champions of baseball."

Tortured no more. And it only took 19,193 days.

San Francisco won 92 games, and the American League West, this summer. But they weren't supposed to do this. They weren't supposed to win it all. Not this year. Sure, they beat the Atlanta Braves in the NLDS. In a short series, with their pitching staff, they should have. Up next, the mighty Philadelphia Phillies. And what did the Giants do? They out-pitched a rotation that boasted Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt, and Cole Hamels. They silenced the powerful Phillies lineup, only Ryan Howard ending the NLCS with a batting average higher than Jimmy Rollins' .261.

Finally, the Texas Rangers. The high-octane Texas Rangers. Claws and antlers. And it was Texas's World Series to lose. Why? Simple: Their bats, vastly superior to the Giants', and the second coming of Sandy Koufax, Cliff Lee.

So much for the script. In games two, four, and five combined, the Rangers scored one run. Five games, that's all it took. Tim Lincecum -- what a performance Monday night -- led the way. And the San Francisco Giants beat Cliff Lee. Twice.

From the incredible Giants blog McCovey Chronicles:

"Every roster move and every transaction was an attempt to lead to this. Every barstool argument about the merits of Mike Aldrete or Eugenio Velez, every guttural cheer in the close wins, and every expletive in the close losses was created with the implicit understanding that the San Francisco Giants could possibly, maybe, if everything broke their way, could conceive of having a chance to potentially one day win the World Series. Maybe. The Giants would win, and they’d hold the trophy up high as idiots ran around and sprayed each other with champagne.

"That’s why we spent so much time trying to figure out if it was a good idea to trade Kirt Manwaring for Rick Wilkins, or hoping that Milt May really was the heir to Willie McCovey’s throne: the stupid, unrealistic promise that the San Francisco Giants could win the World Series.

"Words fail.

"So, so many things had to go right for this. Nine teams had to pass on Tim Lincecum. Twenty-nine had to pass on Aubrey Huff. Edgar Renteria had to play through a torn bicep and a strained old. Some players had to stay healthy, and other players had to get hurt to make room for the players who would lead the Giants to a World Series title.

"The Giants won the World Series. The San Francisco Giants. No foolin’. It’s on Wikipedia and everything."

So, so many things had to go right, and they did. American League East, or National League West, pitching wins championships. Yet, still, it's hard to believe the Giants are today on top of the baseball world. An hour after the game, some of the Giants sat in uniform on the infield grass of The Ballpark in Arlington. They probably couldn't believe it themselves. Because it wasn't supposed to happen. Not with Brian Sabean at the helm. Not with Barry Zito counting his money while left off the playoff roster. Not with that offence. Not with Kung Fu Panda on the bench, and Cody Ross, plucked from the scrap heap, playing left and right field. Not with Pat Burrell batting cleanup, and Juan Uribe manning the hot corner. Not with Nate Schierholtz and Mike Fontenot starting games in the goddamn postseason. Not with 35-year-old Edgar Renteria, his best days clearly behind him, playing shortstop.

And, yet, how fitting. All of it. I mean, we're talking about the San Francisco Giants. A franchise that oozes baseball tradition. A franchise that has sent more players to Cooperstown than any other in baseball history. A franchise synonymous with one of the greatest baseball players I've ever known, Barry Bonds. And with many more legends I never had the privilege to watch: Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal, Gaylord Perry, and others. Do yourself a solid and read some of the comments at McCovey Chronicles; this World Series title is as much for the legends above as it is for Will Clark, Matt Williams, Rob Nen and J.T. Snow. For the long, cold, empty and foggy nights at Candlestick Park. For the Croix de Candlestick. And it was the most unlikely group of overachieving Giants who finally put the ghosts of 1962, 1989, and 2002 to rest. Who finally made San Francisco proud.

From the San Jose Mercury:

"It was the Giants' first ever game in November. And it became their favorite month of all. ...
Shout it from atop Coit Tower and let the party begin: Yes, the Giants really are World Series champions."

Congratulations, San Francisco. And thank you. The Giants are why, in spite of it all, we believe.

That's a Getty Image, above, and a damn fine one at that. Via daylife, of course.

Meaningful At-Bats

We continue, in Toronto, to wait for meaningful baseball. Patiently, I might add. And as the Blue Jays were officially -- mathematically -- eliminated from post-season play Sunday afternoon in Boston, I reverted to the old adage, tried, tested, and true: maybe next year.

But 2010 has far from been a lost cause. (Unless you're Travis Snider, or J.P. Arencibia, but that's a whole other story.) Toronto hasn't lost 100 games. They won't end up anywhere near the dreaded century mark. And they certainly won't finish below the Baltimore Orioles in the standings. Shame on those of you who even thought of such a fortune. No, we weren't treated to meaningful baseball this season, even though it's clear the franchise is headed towards the light. But, thanks to Jose Bautista, we were treated to that which we haven't seen around these parts since Carlos Delgado's heyday: meaningful at-bats.

Forty-nine home runs. One every 10.65 at-bats. And counting. A violent assault not only on fastballs, but on Toronto's, and baseball's, record books. History. Bautista will become the first Blue Jay to hit 50 home runs in a season. It's going to happen, and, no, I don't believe in jinxes. And when it does, when number 50 does clear the left field wall (hopefully at the SkyDome), the feat will have been accomplished for only the 42nd time in baseball history.

The Toronto Blue Jays have been around since 1977. The Steroid Era has come and gone. Bautista will be the first to hit 50 for the good guys, and he could very well be the last. That's the beauty of baseball. You just never know. I'm convinced the franchise will one day return the post-season. Will add a pennant, or two, to their collection. But I'm not so sure I'll ever see another no-hitter. Perhaps Dave Stieb's effort was Toronto's pitching performance of my lifetime. And, in that same light, perhaps Bautista's exploits in the batter's box have been Toronto's home run hitting performance of my lifetime.

Post-All Star break, there's been a buzz everytime Bautista has stepped up to the plate. It's palpable. At home, on the road, and even on television. Bautista excites; Bautista has people talking baseball. (And beards.) There's an expectation that regardless of who's throwing the ball, and how fast it's traveling, and how much it's moving, Bautista can murder it. The situation hardly matters, either. Nobody could be on base. Actually, nobody usually is. The Blue Jays could be down by five. Yet each Bautista at-bat matters. Each Bautista at-bat means more than any other.

The only comparable seasons to Bautista's are John Olerud's 1993 campaign, and Carlos Delgado's 2000 and 2003 seasons. Olerud flirted with .400 that magical summer, and finished with a Weighted On-Base Average (wOBA) of .453, and a Weighted Runs Created Plus (wRC+) of 181. In 2000, Delgado hit 41 home runs, and put up an incredible wOBA of .471. King Carlos bested Olerud's wRC+ by one, finishing with a rating of 182. Delgado finished fourth in MVP voting that season, which still completely blows my mind. In 2003, Delgado hit 42 home runs, and tallied a wOBA of .423, and a wRC+ of 160.

Bautista, with 49 home runs to his name, and 12 games left on the schedule, today sports a wOBA of .423, and a wRC+ of 170. Like I said: historic. One of the finer offensive seasons Toronto has ever seen. Delgado-esque. And who could ever have imagined saying that about the journeyman outfielder-slash-third baseman?

I get it, now. I get why Damien Cox, and others in his wake, had to ask the question. We're talking history, and in Bautista, a player who has come out of nowhere. Literally. Pittsburgh: baseball's nowhere. What I wish I'd see less of, though, in the Toronto media landscape, is "But you've got to at least ask the question ..." masquerading as reporting. Because I'd put money on the fact that Bautista is indeed clean. He's been tested. And he does not physically look the part of a juicer. If the Steroid Era taught us anything, it's that the human eye does not deceive. There's more: Bautista hasn't hit a cheap home run to opposite field all season. He's pulled one through 49 to the left side. The proof in Bautista's changed mechanics alibi -- he's closer to the plate with his back foot, his hands are higher, and he starts his leg kick, and swing, earlier -- can be found in the fact he's hitting fastballs 32.8 runs above average this season, compared to only 4.2 runs above average in 2009. Bautista essentially owns the inner-half of the plate. He's made a conscious decision to pull the ball. If he doesn't get a pitch to pull, he'll gladly take a walk, his on-base percentage a career-high .382, far above his .342 career average. Instead of wondering whether Bautista is on steroids, where are the columns applauding Bautista's patience at the plate? Where are the columns asking an even more important question: why the hell is he still being pitched to inside?

It's pointless, defending Jose Bautista's honour. I know that. And, at the end of the day, he doesn't need my help. His urine has done, and will continue to do, the talking.

Instead, I'm going to enjoy Bautista's final meaningful, and hopefully violent, at-bats this season. I'm going to be at the SkyDome on Tuesday night, and Wednesday night, and maybe even Thursday afternoon. Perhaps I'll be there on the weekend, too. And maybe next week, when the Yankees are in town. Bautista's got nine games to hit number 50 at home, in Toronto. And I'm not going to miss it.

Beautiful image via daylife.

Turning Two

"There's absolutely no way you can go barreling into second and dump a guy on a double play, like you should do, when you've been fraternizing with him before a game."

- Frank Robinson

Preach on, Mr. Robinson.

I've only recently become more enamored with the double play. More aware, in a sense, of the speed and skill with which it occurs. Five seconds, and two outs. Five seconds, two outs, and out of a jam. Five seconds, two outs, a scoop of a throw in the dirt at first base, and the inning is over.

Because it happens so often, and so flawlessly, day in and day out in baseball, I think I've come to take the double play for granted. And that ain't right. Because there isn't much in this world quite like a six-four-three.

Image courtesy of daylife. Thanks, yo.

Born Again

In my baseball renaissance, I've taken to finding, reading, loving and sharing quotes on the fascinating game. There are many. And when they're 140 characters long or less, I share them on Twitter, usually late at night.

Some of the greatest ones, though, are too long for that medium. Like this one:

"One of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something."

- Nolan Ryan

When I left Toronto and began Stealing Home, I wrote that "life mirrors baseball." I've yet to come across a quote that better illustrates my point.

Preach on, Nolan.

Incredible image -- that's a Matt Kemp home run ball lodged in the scoreboard -- courtesy of daylife.

Picture Perfect

After it's edited black and white, and subsequently framed, the above photograph -- courtesy of the hard-working folks at daylife -- will proudly hang from the walls of my mother's basement. Because the manual scoreboard at hallowed Fenway Park in Boston never looked as magnificent as it did Friday night.

Some dreams stay dreams, some dreams come true

Yes, Brandon Morrow did indeed do that on Sunday afternoon. And, ever since, I've been walking around telling everyone within speaking distance that the young man pitched, according to Statistics Guru Bill James' Game Score metric, the fourth most impressive game since 1920, when the Live-Ball Era began. Nineteen-bloody-twenty. Say it out loud. Let it sink in.

There's no doubt about it: Brandon Morrow pitched like a man on August 8th, 2010. Actually, like the mightiest of men. (Read that article from the Toronto Sun; it's arguably the greatest in the history of the tabloid.)

One out. That's all that stood between Morrow and baseball immortality. But Morrow's exploits will live on, in Toronto at least. Because his was the type of performance I will tell my grandchildren about. And that's the beauty of baseball: something truly special can happen on any given day, from even the most unlikely of candidates. Speaking of which, Jose Molina stole second base on Sunday. Seriously. And that's why I continue, more and more everyday, to fall head over heels back in love with baseball.

"Let's all take a deep breath as we go to the most dramatic ninth inning in the history of baseball. I'm going to sit back, light up, and hope I don't chew the cigarette to pieces."

- Vin Scully, during Don Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series

No, it wasn't the World Series. And, no, Morrow wasn't throwing a perfect game. But damn if there wasn't incredible drama. Heading into the final frame, with Morrow 16 strikeouts deep, and only three outs away from Toronto's second no-hitter, which the franchise continues to agonizingly flirt with, I felt like Vin Scully did more than 50 years ago; like we were indeed headed to the most dramatic ninth inning, in a 1-0 ball game to boot, in the history of baseball.

Thanks for keeping him in the ball game, Cito. And thanks for the baseball butterflies, Brandon Morrow.

Yes, J.P. Arencibia did do that on Saturday afternoon. And had I not heard it from the mouths of Jerry Howard and Alan Ashby, I probably wouldn't have believed it myself. When the young catcher sent his second home run into the stands, I involuntarily began honking the horn of my car. I can only assume that my brain figured it was the right thing to do.

Every baseball player dreams of making it to The Show. And I'm sure every baseball player dreams of getting their first Major League hit in their first Major League at-bat. But to hit a home run on the first Major League pitch to be thrown his way, and to follow that with a double, a single, and another home run ... there's no way J.P. Arencibia could have ever dreamed such a dream. And that's what made his curtain call -- finally, Toronto -- and the smile on his face that much more special.

In all my excitement, I've even checked out Arencibia's FanGraphs page: a 1.255 wOBA, and a 732 wRC+. Quite the debut.

Brett Cecil on Friday night. Arencibia on Saturday afternoon. Brandon Morrow on Sunday afternoon. The latter two becoming worldwide trending topics on Twitter. The streets are talking; 1993 is being bandied about. People are excited about the Toronto Blue Jays.

Food For Thought

With his mind-blowing 17 Ks, Brandon Morrow joined Roger Clemens as the only other Toronto Blue Jays pitcher to strike out more than 15 batters in one game. Clemens did it an astounding four times in the two years he represented Toronto. The next time you're bored, or wasted, check out Clemens' 1997 and 1998 splits. Whatever he was on during his stay in Toronto, at 34 and 35 years old, it was some quality stuff ...

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Since Alex Anthopoulos's acquisition of Yunel Escobar, the Blue Jays are 15-7, and 14-5 when the shortstop is in the lineup ...

Your Toronto Blue Jays, with 59 wins, have only three fewer than Roy Halladay's Philadelphia Phillies. And it's those same Phillies who are 140 million dollar "contenders." What a world ...