Frontpage Features

BY BILL LEEMAN

The Torture is over, the season is over, and it ended in the only way this unlikely and incredible season could have:  With a World Series Championship for the San Francisco Giants!   Unbelievable.  

We got the Ring!

Giants:  World Series Champions!   I'm still having trouble allowing that to sink in.

This one is for all the people who were born, went to school, had a career, got married, had kids, grand kids, and went on with their lives, and never saw The Ring.   This one is for all the Giant fans who didn't live long enough to see it.   This one is for my Dad, and my aunt, both rabid Giants fans long since gone, who taught me about baseball.  This one is for my Grandpa, who took me to the World Series in 1962.   This is for my Mom, who I'm sure is looking down with a smile on her face, and a tear in her eye.

This is for all the Giants fans, both old and new, and this is for the Giants players themselves.  How richly deserved!   It is for Larry Baer and Brian Sabean, and the management team from top to bottom, who have given us the most exciting season in San Francisco Giants history!   This is for Bruce Bochy.  

It is for the hot dog vendors and the picture takers.  It's for the season ticket holders and the bleacher screamers!    For the scoreboard operators and all the people who got up and danced between innings.   It's for Renel.  

For Kruk and Kuip, and Dave and Jon, the best group of announcers in the business.  

This is for the kayakers with their nets.  

This is for the most beautiful ball park in the land, in the most beautiful city anywhere.   This is for the bandwagon jumpers, welcome aboard!   For all the old barnacles who've been stuck there for years.  

This is for the fans who are living in other countries, such as Texas.  

This one is for Lon Simmons, and Hank Greenwald.  This one is for Rich Aurilia and F.P. Santangelo.  This is for Marty Lurie.  For  Mychael Urban.  For equipment man Mike Murphy.  This one is for Will Clark, Bob Brenley, and Barry Bonds.

This is for little Abie, the 80-year-old peanut vendor from Candlestick, long since gone.

This one is for all the youngsters, in their twenties, and teens, so fresh and new.   May they never know a fifty-two year drought.  

And this one is for me, and those like me, who have been here for the whole ride.   From the first game at Seals Stadium in 1958 to the final out in 2010 in Arlington.  Candlestick Park, took my daughter to her first game when she was eight or nine weeks old.  We slipped her under the seats on her little cushion.  Took my son to an unforgettable game when he was barely a year.   The reason that game was unforgettable is because my darling, sweet, precious little blue-eyed son projectile vomited from his seat to the aisle and back.  I was so embarrassed.   Then, all these people pitched in, helped get everything all cleaned up and acted like it was no big deal.  On my way out, with my boy over my shoulder, an older guy says to me:  "You're a lucky guy..."   It still brings tears to my eyes.  

This is for all the memories of all those years, of going to the games with the kids, nephews and nieces, who are now in their forties.  

This one is for baseball friends from out of state not calling me, in the midst of this run, because they didn't want to jinx the team.

But most of all, this is for the guys that did it on the field:  Edgar Renteria; Playing hurt.  Edgar Renteria: Mister Money, Mister Clutch, Mister MVP.   Mister November?

It's for Tim Lincecum, Buster Posey, Madison Bumgardner, and Matt Cain, who are basically too young to realize the complete implausibility of what they've done.  

It's for Aubrey Huff, who, while being interviewed after one latest win, started to tear up.  He caught himself, but we saw it.   Very touching.  

It's for playoff MVP Cody Ross, for gosh sakes.  Did that man come to play, or what?  

This is for Juan Uribe, and his RBIs, who never took an easy swing.  

This is for Pat Burrell, who hit a shot almost over the four story building in San Diego late in the season.  

This is for Freddy Sanchez, and his stirling second base defense, and his tremendous at bats.  He very nearly single-handedly wore out the Ranger pitchers.  He is SO INTO these games you can see it on his face!

This is for Andres Torres, who had an appendectomy and was back on the field twelve days later.   Some of us thought that when he went down it might be a blow that we wouldn't recover from.   But, it was not to be, others picked up the slack, and that was the story of the Giants all year.   Everyone took turns stepping up.  

Schierholtz, Ishakawa, Rowand.   All of them came off the bench to come through at different times.  Even Barry Zito, who was left off the roster, never had a discouraging word, only offered encouragement.  A class guy, all the way.  

This one is for the Panda, and for Jonathan Sanchez, who both had their ups and downs, and who both came through in the clutch.

And our relievers!  Brian Wilson!  People everywhere are imitating his crossed-arm salute!  It's the new secret handshake.

Jeremy Affeldt.   Casilla, he's thirty, but he looks twenty-one.   Mota, Romo, Ramirez, Javier Lopez.  All of them, studs.  Some of these guys played ugly on other teams, but shined here.

Bruce Bochy.  You can't say enough about him.  Some folks think a manager doesn't contribute that much.  Not here.   Every move he made worked.  That man is as crafty and knowledgeable as any manager in the game.  Many of us didn't realize it until this season.  

This is for the Celebration:  All the people on the streets last night, honking, screaming, cheering, dancing, and putting the whole town in such a state of euphoria that I could have been cited for crying while driving. 

For some of us, this is the crowning glory, the final achievement;  all we needed to complete our lives.  Now, we can die happy!  

And I can finally take off this damn rally thong!