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BY SCREAMIN' LEEMAN

You know, I'm not REALLY superstitious.   All these rituals I go through daily to make sure the Giants stay on track don't REALLY mean anything.   Each day, I make sure my bobbleheads are positioned correctly.  I hang my unwashed Giants jersey precisely the same way I've done since July.   Still, I have the Heebie Jeebies!   I park my car in exactly the same spot.  I don't kill that black and orange spider that spun a web in my workshop.  But nothing gets rid of the edginess.  I still have that feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I can't sleep.   Can't eat.   Hard to concentrate.   Pacing the floor.  What the heck is going on?

And then it hit me:  I think I'm in love.  

Yes, that's it.  I can't help myself, I just want to be with my Giants!  

I want to put my arm around their shoulder, console them on their loss.   Tell them it's okay, they can do better tomorrow.

"Say, Screamin', are you losing it?  We're talking about a BALL team here..."

Yeah, I know.   But I'm not the only one.   There are many, many more out there just like me.  I don't know when it started for them, but my affair has been going on for fifty-two years.  We've been through so much together.  

Now, finally, will we get our reward?

Oh, the ride we've had.  Started in 1958.  I was there for the first game.  Went through the Marichal years.  Willie Mays, Willie McCovey.  Johnny Antonelli.  Saw the World Series in '62.  Was there for Ray Sadecki.  Sad Sam Jones.  Jimmy Ray Hart.  

Through the seventies, when you could go to any game at any time and sit anywhere you wanted.  I drove cab in those days, used to drive out to Candlestick in the seventh or eighth, go in and watch the rest of the game.   On one of those nights, I saw Bobby Bonds hit a grand slam against the Dodgers in the bottom of the ninth.   It looked like the highest pop-up I ever saw.   It went about a mile up into the fog, and dropped down behind the cyclone fence in front of the bleachers.  

John the 'Count' Montefusco.  Ed Halicki.  Kevin Mitchell.  Both Clarks, Jack and Will.  Johnny LeMaster.  The freezing summer nights at the 'Stick.  The 'Croix de Candlestick'.  Steve 'Bedrock' Bedrosian: only one of an interminably long procession of washed up pitchers.  

The final series in '82, as the Giants and Dodgers took turns eliminating each other from the playoffs.

The good times.  Matt Williams, Jeff Kent, Barry Bonds.  The '89 playoffs against the Cubs, Mark Grace pitted against Will Clark.  Guess who came out on top?  The '89 World Series.  I was there for the earthquake, I was there for the heartbreak.   !n '02, when we were eight outs away from it.  Shinjo.  

Lots and lots of memories, lots of bad and good times, but we have always been the bridesmaid, never the bride!

Will this time be different?   Will we get the ring?

This World Series stands at two games to one.   Can we win another one in Texas?   Or will they win all three, leaving us to win the last two at home?  

Is there going to be MORE torture?  After the first two games, I thought the torture was over.  

Admit it!   We were all ready to pick up the trophy.

Ha!  No such luck.

We've got to play the games...   That's why we do it...   To see who wins...   It's not over 'til it's over...

And it ain't over yet!