One: “It’s Time”
So goes the slogan of the Texas Rangers. Silly but practical. If this isn’t “their” time, they can always use the slogan the next time. By that time, all anyone will remember is that this was “our” time: time of the Freak, the Machine, the Thong, the Beard and the Boss; of Mission Creek and Mission Reds, the San Francisco Seals — and “your” San Francisco Giants.
Will our time come tonight in Game 5?
“They’ve got to win tonight,” says K. “My liver can’t take much more.”
Two: Game Face
Tim Lincecum returns to the mound for San Francisco. He won his first start at Mission Creek without his best stuff. Tonight he pitches in The Ballpark, a temple within the megachurch of American spectator sports, in a cow pasture outside Dallas, TX. Watch out for the scorpions, Timmy!
Oh look, he’s got his Mr. Determined game face on. I don’t like this one, it’s too Texas. I much prefer the Nearsighted Unabomber game face, where he squints into the future at an explosive pitch no one else can see.
But if he’s determined to be determined, won’t he come out tight, walk a bunch of guys and give up a grand slam home run? Isn’t that what determination gets you in the Zen world of baseball?
No, not this time. Timmy’s got his orange on.
Three: A Clockwork Orange
Look at what he does to the first six Rangers he faces. He uses 13 pitches to get the first three out. Not bad, but in the second inning he uses only six. And he has some help from Juan Uribe.
In the third inning, Lincecum faces the catcher who made him a big-league pitcher, his teacher and close friend Bengie Molina. Last week Molina got two hits off the kid he practically pushed around in a stroller. Although he knows Timmy’s fragile psyche, he doesn’t know The Slider, a pitch Lincecum developed after the Giants dumped Molina. In Game 1, Timmy threw him a flabby slider with virtually nothing on it. Tonight he cuts the fat and applies the mustard: three pitches (two sliders), three strikes.
Ranger hitters try waiting, which doesn’t work because Timmy throws strikes. Ranger hitters try swinging at the first good pitch they see, which doesn’t work because it only looks like a good pitch. Actually, it’s The Slider, a “filthy” pitch breaking late, sliding down, leaving the Rangers to swing madly at phantoms. No Ranger hits until the fourth inning.
Four: The Mercenary Private Contractor
Lincecum pitches marvelously. He has no other choice if he’s going to keep up with Cliff Lee, who last year pitched for Cleveland and the Philadelphia and this year pitched for Seattle and Texas. The Yankees want him next year, so you can consider his pitches tonight negotiating points for his contract.
Lee lets everybody know he wants a fat contract. Like Lincecum, he gets off to a lights-out start; all his pitches are working. But whereas Texas hitters can’t figure out how to figure out Lincecum, Giant hitters explore, poke, take pitches, hit foul balls and make Lee work. Buster Posey leads the way: a single in the first and an 11-pitch at-bat in the third.
In the sixth inning, with two outs, Freddy Sanchez loops a single just past the diving Nelson Cruz. Up comes Buster Posey. Lee gives him a fastball, inside and belt high. Buster, always polite, says thank you and clobbers the ball into right field. Maybe a little too polite, Buster. Cruz makes the catch at the wall.
Five: Ghosts of the Past
The Mission Reds and San Francisco Seals line the base paths at Seals Stadium and take off their hats.
Joe DiMaggio comes home; the Bonds, the Clarks, McCovey, Marichal, Riverboat Smith.
Willie Mays.
Six: A Ghost from the Present
Cody Ross, hero of the Philadelphia series, opens the seventh inning with a single. Incredibly, Juan Uribe follows with another. A perfect situation for a bunt, but Aubrey Huff doesn’t bunt. Oh yeah? He bunts the runners forward and almost beats the throw to first.
Pat Burrell, in a slump the entire series, strikes out. The game is on the line. The Giants may not get another opportunity. Edgar Renteria will be the batter. Last time up he hit into a double play.
Since coming to the Giants last year, Renteria has been a major disappointment. On the downside of a 13-year career, he’s suffered a variety of injuries, disappearing for weeks and months at a time. But he wanted a shot at another World Series, and he got it. Lee’s first two pitches are high above the strike zone. His third pitch is high in the strike zone. Renteria can’t believe it — must be a gift from the baseball gods. He unwraps a three-run home run.
Seven: Rite of Passage
Bedlam breaks loose in the City.
Immediately silenced when Nelson Cruz smashes The Slider over the left-field wall. Will it shake Lincecum’s confidence, his concentration? He’s pitching to the very dangerous Ian Kinsler, and walks him. David Murphy strikes out, and now, with two outs, look who’s coming up to bat — Bengie Molina.
The student vs. the teacher; the cute kid vs. the evil governess; the future vs. the past — all with the World Series on the line. Talk about your mythological moment.
Five pitches later, Lincecum strikes out Molina.
Eight: Easy
Six outs remain. Remember the Angels — no, don’t remember the Angels in 2002 — especially now, in the bottom of the eighth, where another situation has developed with a runner at first and two outs. This time Lincecum has to take down the wily Michael Young.
He makes it look easy.
The Rangers have one more chance, and their best hitters will take the stage. It’s Brian Wilson time. Paramedic vans surround Civic Center; fans receive emergency instruction in collective CPR.
But Wilson takes pity on us. He strikes out Cruz, makes the sign of a cross, and the Giants win the World Series.
Nine: Ghosts of the Future
As the City pours out onto the streets to ignite a three-day party, fleeting images of Lincecum, Posey, Torres, Sanchez, Wilson, Cain, Bumgarner, Bochy, Ross and Renteria flicker and linger, disappear and reappear in the warm San Francisco night. Many of the key players from this team will be with us for seasons to come, hopefully.
Think how much torture fun that’s going be.