Limp

The Giants may be the most frustating team to support in baseball. It's not because they go on long losing streaks- they don't. Instead, they tease with batting prowess and then return to impotence. They make journeymen fucks like Randy Wolf look like Bob Gibson. They have the patience of my second child when he's two hours past bed time. They read cut fastballs on the hands like they're platters full of bacon gently landing in their mouths. In short, they are bad hitters spliced with decent moments usually bred by pitchers with pre-midnight hooker appointments. Five of their last eight games have been hitting fiascos, in the midst of a hot pennant race. The pitching, after a horrific August, has been spectacular in September. What can you say? If Edgar Renteria is your leadoff hitter, you really don't belong in the playoffs. It may be as simple as that. I've put in the dog hours this year and logged the emotional miles, but it ain't easy. A playoff spot is complete victory- anything shy is failure. When it's all or nothing, you have to wonder about the limp dick performance of tonight. The Rockies are hungry and scoring at will. The Giants shuffle back to the dugout after another lazy pop to right, seemingly on repeat. Look, nobody will beat the Phillies in the West, but the Giants need to at least battle each at-bat. OK, Uribe is incapable of shared sacrifice, but the other guys need to take some pitches, foul some pitches off, and make some motherfuckers work. This looked like a tired team with a dinner to get to. Tonight is another reason why the Giant naysaying pundits don't make me mad- maybe they're just right.