I grew up a fan of the San Francisco Giants. My first sports memories are from their star-crossed 1993 season, where a loss to the hated Dodgers left them with 103 wins and in second place. When the Diamondbacks came to Arizona, I had to switch allegiances. You have to root for the local nine. But first sports loves are not easily forgotten, and this year’s Giants run has awakened some old memories. The uniforms, the city and the jewel of a stadium — it’s easy to want to root for this franchise.
But for Giants fans, it hasn’t actually been easy. The Giants are not often mentioned as a cursed franchise. But since landing in San Francisco in 1958, this grand old franchise has never won a World Series. This drought happened despite the fact that San Francisco had two of the sport’s greatest players in Willie Mays and Barry Bonds, some of the best fans in baseball and multiple teams that were good enough to win it all. But it hasn’t happened, and Giants fans can’t be blamed for trying to figure out why.
Curse theories abound, and their many close calls — one in 1962 was so close that a “Peanuts” strip had Charlie Brown wonder, in his tone of weary pessimism, “Why couldn’t McCovey have hit the ball just three feet higher?” — have caused their fans to begin to doubt that their team will ever be better than second-best.
But this improbable team, in this spectacular year for baseball, might just be good enough.
This World Series, more than most, is a triumph for the sport. Baseball lives off the idea that payroll and market size are less relevant than scouting and player development. If you gave an NBA team the Yankees’ resources, the argument goes, they would be unbeatable. But baseball is in its nature a great leveler. One superstar can’t lead a team to relevance alone; even a brilliant manager is at the mercy of the vagaries of the game. But the imbalance in payroll has lately seemed too large, and another Yankees-Phillies World Series would have been another blow to competitiveness. But the Rangers have never been to the World Series, and the Giants haven’t won since 1954.
In this Year of the Pitcher, the fact that both Series participants got there by shutting down potent and highly paid lineups is another victory for baseball.
The American League champion Texas Rangers are a great story in their own right. The impossible redemption of Josh Hamilton, a story ripped from fairy tales and Malamud, is one. The constant, mundane brilliance of Cliff Lee is another. The Rangers are entertaining and dangerous, and in most postseasons, they would be the scrappy underdog story.
But not this year. These Giants are too unlikely. Their best hitter is a fresh-faced rookie. Their best pitcher is a shaggy-haired waif, a pitcher whose unique wind-up, a whirlwind of arms and legs and leaping motion, was taught to him by his father. Their postseason star was released earlier in the season. They are a team still emerging from the shadow of Bonds — the best player of his generation, even before the controversy, and in his later seasons a distraction from the business of winning.
There are no such distractions now. Winning is the only business for these Giants. You’re not always sure how they do it. They can’t really hit. Their defense is great, but doesn’t always look it. Their pitching staff is among the best in baseball, but casual baseball fans haven’t even heard of Brian Wilson, or Javier Lopez — two players who make their dominance possible. But they keep winning. They win close games incessantly; if it’s luck, it’s as much a part of their formula as relief pitching at this point.
Baseball is often a game of story. Teams and their fans believe in their own mythology. Winning in the regular season is a relentless march determined by measurable skills — getting on base, striking batters out, taking extra bases — and endurance. Over 162 games, things balance out. The best teams win.
In the playoffs, though, teams win because of pitching matchups, managerial decisions and home field advantage. They win because of moments. And these Giants seem ready for them.
This World Series may not be the most watched. The Yankees are gone and so are the Phillies. The storylines aren’t ready-made. The NFL season is in full swing, and Brett Favre is all ESPN talks about.
But baseball has never been a sport that needs television to survive. It’s a sport of box scores and radios and summer afternoons, not TV ratings. The World Series doesn’t need the validation of a Super Bowl’s viewership. It is more drama than spectacle.
And if people miss this World Series, it’ll be their loss.
Share your Giants memories with Will at wmunsil@asu.edu
