It's March 2014 and you're at a San
Francisco Giants Spring Training game in metropolitan Phoenix. The
person next to you turns and suddenly exclaims, “I'm from the
future.” “Prove it,” you say. They point to their “Germany
2014 World Cup Champions” t-shirt and it seems plausible. “Tell
me, future boy,” you say in your best Doc Brown voice, “How far
in the future did you come from? Can I even believe in this team?”
“Well,” says the Germany fan, “I
can tell you that by the first week of September, Matt Cain will be
shut down for the season, Tim Lincecum will have been banished to the
bullpen, Sergio Romo lost the closers job by July, Angel Pagan missed
yet another month with back problems, Brandon Belt and Hector Sanchez
have got so many concussions they're done for the year... hey, where
are you going?”
For at this point, you're out of your
seat and heading for the exit. “The nearest bar,” (which, since
you're in metropolitan Phoenix, is about 25 minutes away, no matter
where you are) “This team is clearly screwed. They're nowhere close
to the wild card and they must be a billion games out of first place.
Don't even tell me how far they are behind the Dodgers.”
“They're two games out of first,”
he tells you. “They lead the wild card.” Abruptly, an about face.
You come back to your seat, staring at the Germany fan. “How on
earth....”
“Well,” he says, “For the first
two months of the season, they were hitting tons of home runs....”
“Wait, are you sure you're talking
about the San Francisco Giants?”
“Yes. And in early June had a nine
and a half game lead over the Dodgers, far and away the best record
in baseball. Then...”
“The June swoon. As predictable for
the Giants as the sun rising in the east.”
“Yes. Worst record in baseball for
six weeks. The lead was gone by the end of the month. But just as
they really weren't as good as they seemed for the first two months,
they really weren't as bad as they seemed for those six weeks.”
“What about Cain? What about
Lincecum?”
“Cain was clearly not right from the
get-go. You've seen that for yourself right here,” gesturing to the
spring training field. You nod. “And a month before he got sent to
the bullpen, Timmy threw a no-hitter against the Padres.”
“He's gone mental again, hasn't he?”
“I can't tell you everything. But
you've seen him enough to know that one for yourself. And along those
lines, I'd pay attention to the right side of the infield in the
B-squad games.”
“Oh God, how many games does Marco
Scutaro end up playing at second base?”
“Marco who?”
“Dammit. That was a mistake from the
beginning.”
“Okay, I've spilled too much already.
I've got to get back, the last month of the season promises to be
really fun.”
“Wait, why didn't you wait until the
end of the season? I want to know if they make the playoffs, the
pennant, the World Series.”
“Look, when you see an open phone
box, you take it. You don't ask questions.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Anything
else? I figure I should bet Germany to win?”
“Good call. And whatever you do,
don't be in Napa in the wee hours of August 24th.”
“What happens in the wee hours of
August 24th?”
“Just don't be there. You know your
Big Joe Turner.”
And with that, he hops out of the seat
next to you and bounds up the steps. Stunned, you don't even make a
move to follow. You lean back in your seat and make a note to not be
in Napa on Sunday, August 24th. You certainly do know your
Big Joe Turner. And you look forward to September.
photos courtesy: comicvine.com, blueboxaudiovisual.com
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