Pregame: A Night at the Soap Opera
“He’s got it, the little freak!”
The man who says this stands about four feet away from me. In the old gold afternoon light, we’ve both been watching Tim Lincecum and Pablo Sandoval take batting practice. Lincecum, the Freak, is loose and light. Sandoval, the Panda, is loose and heavy. They kid around, and at one point Lincecum goes for a bat on the ground and winds up doing a quasi-cartwheel, winding up on his toes.
The guy standing next to me doesn’t say it to me, or anyone else. But I know exactly what he means and exactly why he said it. We saw the same thing, something freaky in Lincecum’s cartwheel: an extension of his arms? his legs? his body? Something you only see at the ballet — and at baseball games. Something else I haven’t seen from him this year. He’s having fun.
Inning One: The Curtain Rises on Act II
The 2010 edition of “your” San Francisco Giants, an ambiguous, polyglot, enigmatic, collection of migrant workingmen, takes the field led by their diminutive Mission hipster-wannabe, Tim Lincecum, and his Giant alter ego, his “imaginary friend,” his doppelganger, the best pitcher in the National League over the past two years: the Freak — aka the Franchise, as in “So goes the Freak, so goes the Franchise.”
For the past couple of months, watching Lincecum and the Freak dance on the mound has been maddening, as they whirl in and out of jams, striking out dozens but invariably giving up a key walk here and throwing 30-odd pitches there. Worst of all, when Giants have needed a Napolean to lead them, the Freak has disappeared, leaving Lincecum to deliver Cheech and Chong without the jokes.
Tonight, after a solid outing eight days ago in Washington and a string of interesting interviews over the All Star break, Lincecum opens the season’s second act against Los Mets, the best Latino team in North America. They’ve got their own soap operas, to be sure, but they also have Carlos Beltran coming back from knee surgery to play for the first time this year.
The Freak moves fast. But not too fast. His fastball, however — really fast.
Inning Two: Meanwhile, Back in Pandaville
After the Freak puts down the Mets on ten pitches, Buster Posey hits the first ball he sees in the second half of the season for a single. With two outs, Posey has made it to third, and here comes the Panda: the lovable, inscrutable Panda, whose pop this year has been paltry. We know all about the weight, the wild swinging, but still, he’s the Panda! We believe.
Uncharacteristically, the Panda takes the first pitch. It’s a ball. Characteristically, he swings completely over the second, for a strike. The count reaches two balls and two strikes. We’ve been here before. Mets pitcher R.A. Dickey unleashes another painfully slow fastball, which the Panda crushes against the right field wall, driving home Posey, and leaving him standing on second, where he encourages the crowd with both arms waving, and, for good measure, points to the sky.
Inning Four: Palace Intrigue
After the Giants’ pathetic performance against the Dodgers two weeks ago, fans were calling for manager Bruce Bochy’s head, but the guy whose skull they really wanted to nail on a pike belonged to GM Brian Sabean. The team was a mess and it was all his fault. Among his other crimes, Sabean notoriously hates rookies. He doesn’t like youthful prospects, the fans snorted, just old washed-up vets; but look, without Madison Bumgarner and Posey on that last road trip, the Giants’ season is toast.
Sabean has come to his own defense and found support from the Bay Area Sports Guy blog (an alias, possibly an “imaginary friend,” of declining media mogul Rupert Murdoch). Lincecum and Sandoval are exhibits A and B for Sabean’s case against young people.
Inning Five: First Test
Mets on first and second, no outs. Who’s got the mound — the Freak? Or the Hipster? The Freak retires the side.
Inning Seven: Freak This, New York!
During the All Star break, Lincecum talked of “mental struggles.” He also spoke of National League pitchers, presumably himself included, as artists, striving for perfection. But art ain’t perfect, Tim, and neither are you. He seems to get it. He’s throwing strikes but he’s relaxed, being himself. I think: Bengie Molina is finally gone; Buster Posey, the rookie, is catching Lincecum for the first time, and the Freak is having his best game of the year.
Seventh-Inning Stretch
Sabean defenders point to Lincecum and Sandoval and blame their problems this year on immaturity. Rumors and innuendo provide incontrovertible evidence. I don’t know what the mature response to hundreds of thousands of people and hundreds of millions of dollars yelling my name would be, but if maturity is the issue, Giants’ management might consider looking in the mirror. The Giants recruited Sandoval at 16, taking him from his family and country. During the formative years since, he’s been working for, and learning from, “your” San Francisco Giants.
Inning Eight: Kids in a Park
A tumbling circus catch by the Panda in shallow left closes the door on the Mets. Then, tired of waiting for somebody else, the Freak cracks a single down the third base line. He skips to first; he slides (!!) into second. With one out, bases loaded, Buster Posey hits his weakest grounder of the night but somehow it’s enough to bring home Aaron Rowand.
Postgame
It’s his first shutout this year, his first complete game; the first time this year the team’s ace has taken charge. Outside a guy wears a t-shirt that says “Let Timmy Smoke.” Whatever, just let the Freak pitch.