I just listened to Slayer's Reign in Blood, Sabbath's Master of Reality, and Bad Brains' Rock for Light. I have cleansed the pollution from last night's debacle and am ready to face first pitch. Let it bleed!
31 October 2010
Catharsis Complete
I just listened to Slayer's Reign in Blood, Sabbath's Master of Reality, and Bad Brains' Rock for Light. I have cleansed the pollution from last night's debacle and am ready to face first pitch. Let it bleed!
24 October 2010
The Giants, The Oblivians, and Ratto Deliver
Ray Ratto
CSNBayArea.com
PHILADELPHIA -- When the comprehensive tale is told of how the San Francisco Giants achieved the World Series nobody thought they had any reason to deserve, it will unravel about midway through Saturday’s game. It won’t be told well at all, in fact.
And the reason why is because while you can list the events of Saturday’s 3-2 Game 6 victory over the Philadelphia Phillies so that someone can copy-paste them into a Wikipedia file, you can’t type on a puddle of adrenaline. You can’t make an elegant phrase out of Bruce Bochy’s full-on naked managing. You can’t explain with charts and graphs how much air can be sucked out of an open-air stadium with one very bitchy knee-high slider from one man with a third-rail fetish.
It can’t be done, and yet it must, because only those who were there can truly walk the rest of us through, and they must try lest the story fade into standard-issue video clips and clichéd champagne sprays.
It may help, though to understand that the Giants are certifiably mad, as in full-on bughouse crazy. And they are comfortable with that.
“I’ve never actually seen a game played at this extreme an edge,” general manager Brian Sabean said in the middle of a long soliloquy about Brian Wilson, the closer who walked the game as close to oblivion as it could stand.
“Just everything. Jonathan (Sanchez) doesn’t have it and we haven’t had that happen in I don’t know how long, the thing with (Chase) Utley (on the third-inning benches-clearing debate), Jeremy Affeldt saving our asses, Madison (Bumgarner) and Timmy (Lincecum), the (Juan) Uribe homer, and Wilson. Just everything. I’ve never seen a game quite like it. I’ve never seen a game come close to it, and we’ve done this a lot.”
Oh yes they have, but Saturday was the masterpiece, the one if the Giants never play another game will be remembered as the game of their era.
“We met today, the coaches and the staff, and we just decided we didn’t want to come back tomorrow,” Bochy said. “The pressure would just be too great. So we were going all hands on deck tonight. We told Timmy he would pitch the eighth if we had a lead. We told Madison to be ready just in case. We were going for all of it right here.”
And so they did. Bochy told two starting pitchers to be ready to work in relief in case a third starter flamed out, and Sanchez did.
“I don’t know, I just didn’t have it,” he said. “I warmed up real good, but I got out there and I just didn’t have it. And the thing with Utley, I’m not trying to hit him (which he did, in the upper back), but when he throws the ball at me like that, I’m a professional player too. I didn’t like that.”
So Bochy made the first of several what can be called nothing less than Billy Martin-level choices. He decided the Phillies would not see a right-handed pitcher until he was good and ready to give them one, so he went to the little-used Affeldt for two innings of spotless relief.
Of course.
Then he went to Bumgarner, the 21-year-old man-child who slipped in and out of trouble twice, loading the bases in the fifth and stranding a leadoff double in the sixth without being harmed.
Of course.
Then he Lopezed the top of the Phillies order for the fourth and final time, because Javier Lopez’s work on Utley, Placido Polanco and Ryan Howard must be elevated to a verb.
Of course.
Then Uribe hit a ball that could only be a home run in Citizens Bank Park, a low line drive that barely snuck into the second row of seats in the right field corner and gave the Giants the 3-2 lead. Giant fans dismissed the park as a cheap little walk-in closet of a place, but they will love it forever now because they must.
Of course.
Then Lincecum came in for the eighth, “because we told him if we had the lead in the eighth we were going to go to him and have him get us to Willie,” Bochy said. Lincecum wasn’t sharp, giving up one-out singles to Shane Victorino and Raul Ibanez, but he did complete the bridge to Wilson, who threw a 1-1 fastball to Carlos Ruiz who hit it on a line (shades of Willie McCovey, 1962, perhaps) to Aubrey Huff at first base for an inning-ending double play.
Of course.
Then Wilson, well, Wilsoned the ninth, because he is a fully conjugated verb of his own. After dismissing pinch-hitter Ross Gload with two pitches, he spent 14 pitches walking Jimmy Rollins, inducing a ground out from Polanco and walking Utley to bring up the Phillies’ most powerful source, Howard.
Fastball, up, but Howard swings through it. Fastball up, ball one. Fastball up and in, ball two. Slider away catches Howard looking at strike two. Fastball up, ball three.
Of course.
Fastball up, Howard fouls it off, and then knee-high slider with a middle finger as its tail fin, slightly away and locking up Howard for the entire winter.
“My approach was to throw the ball as hard as I could with conviction,” Wilson said. “I could have spotted it a little better at times, I guess, but I’d rather throw my hardest fastball with as much conviction as I have.”
And yet, to win the pennant, he went to what players used to call the bastard pitch, a slider tailing away and down that none but the truly great can attack with as much conviction as Wilson delivers.
So it ended. The team with the great starting pitching used half its rotation in relief, the first time anyone can remember that happening in a postseason game. The bullpen that had been largely spotty for players not named Lopez or Wilson, delivered seven scoreless inning for the first time since the 1911 World Series. The player with the bad left wrist helped push a homer that would never have been one except in the one place they happened to be playing.
This was the zenith of Giants baseball in our times, a game in which every player and coach extended himself beyond reasonable capabilities to take a trophy it didn’t have the numbers to explain.
But it did have a daylight burglar’s guts and a car thief’s brass and a con man’s belief in the story that everyone would have to believe, no matter how unbelievable it might be.
And now, Wednesday, against the Texas Rangers, another team that has no right to be in the World Series except this: They got there because they were better than everyone else when it was time to be. That’s the only standard that needs to be met.
But when they arrive in San Francisco Monday for their first workout and see the Giants in ski masks and black overcoats, they shouldn’t be surprised. You can’t explain them. You can only experience them.
Ray Ratto is a columnist for Comcast SportsNet Bay Area.
CSNBayArea.com
PHILADELPHIA -- When the comprehensive tale is told of how the San Francisco Giants achieved the World Series nobody thought they had any reason to deserve, it will unravel about midway through Saturday’s game. It won’t be told well at all, in fact.
And the reason why is because while you can list the events of Saturday’s 3-2 Game 6 victory over the Philadelphia Phillies so that someone can copy-paste them into a Wikipedia file, you can’t type on a puddle of adrenaline. You can’t make an elegant phrase out of Bruce Bochy’s full-on naked managing. You can’t explain with charts and graphs how much air can be sucked out of an open-air stadium with one very bitchy knee-high slider from one man with a third-rail fetish.
It can’t be done, and yet it must, because only those who were there can truly walk the rest of us through, and they must try lest the story fade into standard-issue video clips and clichéd champagne sprays.
It may help, though to understand that the Giants are certifiably mad, as in full-on bughouse crazy. And they are comfortable with that.
“I’ve never actually seen a game played at this extreme an edge,” general manager Brian Sabean said in the middle of a long soliloquy about Brian Wilson, the closer who walked the game as close to oblivion as it could stand.
“Just everything. Jonathan (Sanchez) doesn’t have it and we haven’t had that happen in I don’t know how long, the thing with (Chase) Utley (on the third-inning benches-clearing debate), Jeremy Affeldt saving our asses, Madison (Bumgarner) and Timmy (Lincecum), the (Juan) Uribe homer, and Wilson. Just everything. I’ve never seen a game quite like it. I’ve never seen a game come close to it, and we’ve done this a lot.”
Oh yes they have, but Saturday was the masterpiece, the one if the Giants never play another game will be remembered as the game of their era.
“We met today, the coaches and the staff, and we just decided we didn’t want to come back tomorrow,” Bochy said. “The pressure would just be too great. So we were going all hands on deck tonight. We told Timmy he would pitch the eighth if we had a lead. We told Madison to be ready just in case. We were going for all of it right here.”
And so they did. Bochy told two starting pitchers to be ready to work in relief in case a third starter flamed out, and Sanchez did.
“I don’t know, I just didn’t have it,” he said. “I warmed up real good, but I got out there and I just didn’t have it. And the thing with Utley, I’m not trying to hit him (which he did, in the upper back), but when he throws the ball at me like that, I’m a professional player too. I didn’t like that.”
So Bochy made the first of several what can be called nothing less than Billy Martin-level choices. He decided the Phillies would not see a right-handed pitcher until he was good and ready to give them one, so he went to the little-used Affeldt for two innings of spotless relief.
Of course.
Then he went to Bumgarner, the 21-year-old man-child who slipped in and out of trouble twice, loading the bases in the fifth and stranding a leadoff double in the sixth without being harmed.
Of course.
Then he Lopezed the top of the Phillies order for the fourth and final time, because Javier Lopez’s work on Utley, Placido Polanco and Ryan Howard must be elevated to a verb.
Of course.
Then Uribe hit a ball that could only be a home run in Citizens Bank Park, a low line drive that barely snuck into the second row of seats in the right field corner and gave the Giants the 3-2 lead. Giant fans dismissed the park as a cheap little walk-in closet of a place, but they will love it forever now because they must.
Of course.
Then Lincecum came in for the eighth, “because we told him if we had the lead in the eighth we were going to go to him and have him get us to Willie,” Bochy said. Lincecum wasn’t sharp, giving up one-out singles to Shane Victorino and Raul Ibanez, but he did complete the bridge to Wilson, who threw a 1-1 fastball to Carlos Ruiz who hit it on a line (shades of Willie McCovey, 1962, perhaps) to Aubrey Huff at first base for an inning-ending double play.
Of course.
Then Wilson, well, Wilsoned the ninth, because he is a fully conjugated verb of his own. After dismissing pinch-hitter Ross Gload with two pitches, he spent 14 pitches walking Jimmy Rollins, inducing a ground out from Polanco and walking Utley to bring up the Phillies’ most powerful source, Howard.
Fastball, up, but Howard swings through it. Fastball up, ball one. Fastball up and in, ball two. Slider away catches Howard looking at strike two. Fastball up, ball three.
Of course.
Fastball up, Howard fouls it off, and then knee-high slider with a middle finger as its tail fin, slightly away and locking up Howard for the entire winter.
“My approach was to throw the ball as hard as I could with conviction,” Wilson said. “I could have spotted it a little better at times, I guess, but I’d rather throw my hardest fastball with as much conviction as I have.”
And yet, to win the pennant, he went to what players used to call the bastard pitch, a slider tailing away and down that none but the truly great can attack with as much conviction as Wilson delivers.
So it ended. The team with the great starting pitching used half its rotation in relief, the first time anyone can remember that happening in a postseason game. The bullpen that had been largely spotty for players not named Lopez or Wilson, delivered seven scoreless inning for the first time since the 1911 World Series. The player with the bad left wrist helped push a homer that would never have been one except in the one place they happened to be playing.
This was the zenith of Giants baseball in our times, a game in which every player and coach extended himself beyond reasonable capabilities to take a trophy it didn’t have the numbers to explain.
But it did have a daylight burglar’s guts and a car thief’s brass and a con man’s belief in the story that everyone would have to believe, no matter how unbelievable it might be.
And now, Wednesday, against the Texas Rangers, another team that has no right to be in the World Series except this: They got there because they were better than everyone else when it was time to be. That’s the only standard that needs to be met.
But when they arrive in San Francisco Monday for their first workout and see the Giants in ski masks and black overcoats, they shouldn’t be surprised. You can’t explain them. You can only experience them.
Ray Ratto is a columnist for Comcast SportsNet Bay Area.
20 October 2010
Dig the Ride- The Swells Don't Come That Often
It's almost impossible to believe the Gyros are in a position to clinch a World Series berth at home tomorrow, but weirdness reigns. Here's the lineup Bochy should pull out of the magic hat.
CF- Andres Torres- a walk and a solid single to right suggests the groove might be returning- go with the ones who brung ya in the first clinching attempt.
2B- Freddy Sanchez- still a fairly frustrating playoff performance, but he hit some balls hard tonight and if he remains disciplined, I'm thinking big hit tomorrow.
1B- Aubrey Huff- the man got little media love tonight, but he went 3-5 and had a huge single in the 9th off Oswalt. I could watch the slo-mo of him running home to score the winning run all night.
C- Buster Posey- this was his best game as a pro, and given his recent at-bats, I have no idea how he did it. One can only hope he can flick a few to right off Halladay.
LF- Pat Burrell- he's done very little since that big 3-run shot against Atlanta, but he has worked a couple of key walks and he provides a power threat that produces those walks. Keep him here.
RF- Cody Ross- Nicole got a Facebook post that some woman named her newborn Cody Ross today. They need to redo those magic inside ads with Cody front and center.
3B- Pablo Sandovel- that 6th inning double was one of the best moments of the season, and despite the double play that nearly cost us the game, you have to give this guy a chance to hit for power.
SS- Juan Uribe- I don't know if he's healthy because the man still no speaka de Englis, but if he can swing the bat, stick him here and who the hell knows what the nutbag will do?
P- The Freak
Any questions?
18 October 2010
Tomorrow's Lineup if I Were Picking
RF- Cody Ross (madness, perhaps, given his home run binge, but you just can't put Rowand here, and given how Ross is going, a threat at the top might jumpstart things)
2B- Freddy Sanchez (two singles may be a sign he's coming out of it, but he needs patience against Hamels- more singles, please)
1B- Aubrey Huff (one crazy clutch single aside, a total playoff disappointment- we need some power, thong boy, so how about tomorrow?)
C- Buster Posey (I'm sorry, no more talk of the kid being tired- time to show off for the nation, and stop hacking at slop, Buster)
LF- Pat Burrell (we need another three-run homer, Mister)
SS- Juan Uribe (if available, and well, just one lucky swing and 3Ks would be fine)
3B- Pablo Sandovel (speakin' of lucky swings, that's all you can hope for here- and no game-losing errors)
CF- Aaron Roward (another prayer spot)
P- Matt Cain (good luck on the hill, Mattie, with this group)
This is an extraordinarily weak lineup for the NLCS, but what are you going to do?
I'll be sitting in the first row of the second deck, club level, right above first base. Watch me spill my nine-dollar beer as I reach into the cameraman's box to drop a foul ball.
Go Giants!
15 October 2010
October Listening Party
What Are You Listening To October-
Nobunny- First Blood- nothing as instantly toe-tapping as "Mess Me Up" or "I am a Girlfriend," but it's growing. "(Do the) Fuck Yourself" is an easy anthem to embrace, and there's a touch of Ray Davies' vaudeville side in this guy. I bet he never met a circus he didn't like, and there's a charm to the goofiness. No sophomore slump in sight.
The Vacant Lot- Because They Can- I just sold about ninety records and in the culling process listened to some on-the-cuspers. This was a surprise survivor. Started by a guy who left the early Devil Dogs, this is just much better than I remember. I suppose you'd call it power-punk-pop or whatever the newest label is, but it's pretty darn solid melodic rock n roll.
Naked Raygun- Understand- I heard my son singing "Treason treason treason" the other day, so clearly the hooks extend beyond my ears. This is barely half good, but "Wonder Beer" is always a smile, and I can't seem to quit on these guys lately.
Smogtown- Fuhrers of the New Wave- along with Bottles and Skulls, one of my favorite "new" (meaning last fifteen years) punk bands that I never hear anyone talk about. Beach punk done right with one winner after the next, which you'd never guess from the silly photos of the band on the back. Really, I'm not joking- this is great stuff.
Chosen Few- Do the Manic- just so fucking good- the "crazed" singer gets "crazed" right, and don't ask me to explain- sometimes it just works, and you bask in the glow of the mystery.
ACDC- High Voltage- there are good reasons to sell records you don't listen to anymore- you can buy records you can't stop playing. Just fantastic.
The Nerves/The Plimsouls/Paul Collins Beat- the more years that go by, the better these guys sound. You appreciate the hooks more, and I just found that second Paul Collins record I'd never heard that I believe was titled The Kids Are the Same, and it's a hoot as well. I haven't found too many great pop records lately outside of King Tuff, but this stuff sure sounds fresh.
Nobunny- First Blood- nothing as instantly toe-tapping as "Mess Me Up" or "I am a Girlfriend," but it's growing. "(Do the) Fuck Yourself" is an easy anthem to embrace, and there's a touch of Ray Davies' vaudeville side in this guy. I bet he never met a circus he didn't like, and there's a charm to the goofiness. No sophomore slump in sight.
The Vacant Lot- Because They Can- I just sold about ninety records and in the culling process listened to some on-the-cuspers. This was a surprise survivor. Started by a guy who left the early Devil Dogs, this is just much better than I remember. I suppose you'd call it power-punk-pop or whatever the newest label is, but it's pretty darn solid melodic rock n roll.
Naked Raygun- Understand- I heard my son singing "Treason treason treason" the other day, so clearly the hooks extend beyond my ears. This is barely half good, but "Wonder Beer" is always a smile, and I can't seem to quit on these guys lately.
Smogtown- Fuhrers of the New Wave- along with Bottles and Skulls, one of my favorite "new" (meaning last fifteen years) punk bands that I never hear anyone talk about. Beach punk done right with one winner after the next, which you'd never guess from the silly photos of the band on the back. Really, I'm not joking- this is great stuff.
Chosen Few- Do the Manic- just so fucking good- the "crazed" singer gets "crazed" right, and don't ask me to explain- sometimes it just works, and you bask in the glow of the mystery.
ACDC- High Voltage- there are good reasons to sell records you don't listen to anymore- you can buy records you can't stop playing. Just fantastic.
The Nerves/The Plimsouls/Paul Collins Beat- the more years that go by, the better these guys sound. You appreciate the hooks more, and I just found that second Paul Collins record I'd never heard that I believe was titled The Kids Are the Same, and it's a hoot as well. I haven't found too many great pop records lately outside of King Tuff, but this stuff sure sounds fresh.
11 October 2010
Gravy Time
Yea, the Phillies are the much better team (did you enjoy the victory tonight? good, because I ended up at lesbian trivia night and my SF cap got boos). Nobody will argue that. And the Giants have overachieved, especially when you consider how bad some of their go-to guys were in the NLDS. But this is baseball, and weird shit happens. I expect the Giants to lose in 4 or 5, and for torture to end on a shoulder-shrugging note. But hey, that's probably just putting up the defense- why not allow ourselves stupid hope with four days before Lincecum/Holliday? Would it be sadly foolish to entertain miracle dreams? Perhaps, but give me Tuesday. The Giants' season is a complete success at this point, no matter what anybody says. It's gravy time. Lap it up.
07 October 2010
Buy This For Me
Maybe it's creeping nostalgia, but the 70s seemed to get better with each passing decade . . .
04 October 2010
Playoffs!
Game 1: ATL @ SF- Thursday, Oct. 7. TBS 6:37 p.m.
Game 2: ATL @ SF- Friday, Oct. 8. TBS 6:37 p.m.
Game 3: SF @ ATL- Sunday, Oct. 10. TBS TBA
Game 4*: SF @ ATL- Monday, Oct. 11. TBS TBA
Game 5*: ATL @ SF- Wednesday, Oct. 13. TBS TBA
I can't believe Sanchez held it together AND even provided the first bit of offensive power. Even if the Giants bats go into hibernation and they lose in 3 straight, this has been a great year. The Gyros now have several players who can be part of their future and for once they just aren't pitchers. Now if only we can drown Barry Zito when no one is looking, we are looking at a real dynasty.
02 October 2010
Deep Breath, Sucker
Take a deep breath. Read a zen koan. Cherish your wife and kids. Don't watch Chronicle Live. Stay away from ESPN. Sip a Chianti. Breathe deep.
Or fucking hyperventilate and start panicking. What the hell do I know? The boys are in full gag mode, and take it from an old tennis player- once the throat constricts, ain't nothing good gonna happen. I suggest the boys take Chili Davis' break-outta-a-slump advice- have 12 gin and tonics tonight and call a hooker. The man went 4-4 and then admitted to this pre-game regimen. Given the last two games, Chili may be a sage.
I escaped the terror of dawn by watching a documentary on Chicago punk. The Effigies and Naygun Raygun and, well, not a whole lot more than that. Unless Steve Albini counts, but Big Black came after the 1984 end point for this film. I suppose it was interesting, given that I didn't know much about these bands, but if you rent it from netflix, I suggest you skip the last ten minutes, when forty-something punkers berate the state of today's youth. It's a sad and pathetic generation war that's beneath them, but the filmmakers decided to end their film, which I'm sure took them years to make (its running time is over 2 hours), by wallowing in nostalgia. We had energy and these kids don't. We were angry and they're not. What we did mattered and nothing matters today. Etc. Maybe there are slivers of truth in all this, but middle-aged folks ought not judge the energy of their children. It's unseamly, and let's face it- I'm sure there are plenty of interesting underground music scenes for kids we simply don't know about. Maybe I'm wrong, again, but even if I am, getting in front of a camera and complaining about the "kids of today" is bad form. Really.
By the way, I'm listening to live Naked Raygun and it fucking rips. Throb throb, brother.
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