World Series Game Two, San Francisco 9, Texas 0.
My team’s in the World Series.
Just time to hold serve.
This Friday haiku thing is pretty stupid, and I knew it months ago. It was probably mid-season when I knew it had run its course (you were probably there long before that), but I wasn’t about to cut it off, not during this season. Didn’t want to jinx things. I’ll give it up once 2010 is in the books. Not before that.
And I heard from lots of you last night, not commiserating but instead delivering the pep talk that in past years I’ve felt some sort of urge myself to deliver. Thank you for that.
I envy lots of things about this city I’m about to depart, heading back to Texas. There are things I envy about their amazing ballpark, too, but there’s nothing that I envy more at this minute than the 2-0 lead the Giants now have over the Rangers. I think the Giants eighth surpassed the Mavs’ fourth-quarter playoff meltdown against the Spurs years ago as the most deflating sports experience I’ve ever had, in a game that I still feel would have gone differently if Ian Kinsler’s fifth-inning, 401-foot missile hadn’t missed clearing the fence by a blister. Matt Cain (who I’d proposed trading Marlon Byrd, Eric Hurley, Omar Poveda, and Marcus Lemon for two years ago: bah) was brilliant, but C.J. Wilson was nearly as good, and if Texas had gotten that 1-0 lead . . . .
I’m hungry, real hungry. Sometimes that sucks, and it doesn’t feel very good. But better, as a baseball fan, to be hungry on October 29 than dead.
I’m still looking to buy a couple tickets to tomorrow’s game and be alive again, in our House, watching this team bounce back like it has a thousand times this year. It’s the World Series, dammit, and 28 teams and the fans that care about them would trade places with us in a heartbeat.
Sorry for last night’s postgame delivery, and for this silly haiku thing — but not really. I’m trying to keep up my end, to do what it takes to win, and the 5-7-5 every Friday morning was part of what got me back to the computer this morning, but less so than the dozens of emails I got from you all last night.
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(c) Jamey Newberg