But when it Is over...

The thing about it...my Giants did win. And I'm so glad.

The last time a home team lost in Game 7 was the year my parents got married. That was a long time ago. There have only been nine Game 7s since, including the one that was played yesterday.

The thing that always kills me, and turns me off from watching sports in general, is that losing hurts on such a greater magnitude than winning feels good. Watching the faces of the Royals...the despair, the grief, the fighting back tears...I genuinely felt gut-wrenchingly sad for them. Here they are, a tiny-market team that made it to the end of October for the first time since before I was born (also a long time ago, but not as long as my parents have been married), and they have everything they need: fast guys, awesome defense, decent starting pitchers, and stellar relief pitchers. It was right there! They could have won at home. It was so close. Just one hit, and the game could have been different. The MVP would have been different. Maybe the Chevy guy wouldn't have stuttered so bad at the awards ceremony. Who knows? The look of utter disbelief made me sad.

I will admit, the giddy hug-jump-dance at the middle of the field looks fun, so if you're a Giant, have fun, and be smart like Panda and bring goggles so you don't get champagne in your eyes. He probably learned that after the first time. Just goes to show what experience will do for you. (I honestly hope the champagne they pop everywhere is the cheap stuff. Why spray it around the locker room anyway, otherwise? I also feel sorry for the janitors. I hope the Giants paid the cleaning bill.) To lose at home and watch others prance around your home territory just seems like adding insult to injury.

Also, SF fans, what's with the two gunfights and one stabbing in "celebration?" Not cool.

But sadly for the Royals, it is, in fact, over. Wish I could have gone to a game. Also wish that I could go with my coworker JB to the parade tomorrow. Who cares about the rain? It would be fun...and I'm not even that into parades.


Side note about the 2012 Giants team: 

I had just moved to Oregon in 2012 when they went on their stat-defying run. Through the rain, through injury...they fought and fought. I had a crush on Brandon Crawford.  I trash talked with my friend who grew up in St. Louis and assured me that the Cards would beat the Giants handily. Panda's three-home-run game was epic. It seemed like they wanted it. They seemed like real people. They made mistakes, and there were nail-biting moments. The reality seemed to go in slow motion because I was drinking it all in -- I was so stressed out, having just moved, and missing Seattle and my coworkers so much I almost couldn't breathe some days.

I felt like I was a Giant...that I was going to make it through the rain, through the travel, against the stacked odds...and they won. I won. I'll remember that World Series in a way I probably won't remember any other.

It's not Over...

As I write this, there are two outs in the top of the 9th inning, nobody on. My Giants in orange and black are clinging to a 3-2 lead, riding the coattails of MadBum's iron arm and the "nitty gritty dirt band" quality of just hanging in there.

The thing that's great about baseball is that it's not over til it's over. With two outs, nobody on, there is still a chance something can happen. It's like baseball is Pandora's box. When all hope seems lost, you're not up against the clock. You're up against your mind and the strength of the pitching arm of the opposing teams. If you get on, then the thread of hope is woven with more gossamer as everyone rooting for your team starts to believe that something, anything, will happen just to keep the game alive...extend the streak...change the game. Maybe a solo home run will turn things around, or maybe four batters will get on. Or in a 93 mph blur, your hope is dashed as strike three zips by.

Now there are just three outs left in the game...game 7 of the World Series. I have seen these Giants more times live than any other baseball team, ever. I have watched almost every game this October. I have believed. I have jumped up and down. I have hung my head and turned off the tv for stretches as I couldn't handle the blowouts. I have never given up though.

That's what I love about baseball...you should never give up until Mighty Casey, or Mini Joe, strikes out. You have to be vigilant. The little things matter. But until all three outs are called, something can happen. Rally monkeys can save the day. Bobbleheads can jiggle sinisterly and do a voodoo-like dance, intimidating the other team into submission. Whatever superstitious thing you believe, or don't believe, it can probably happen in baseball...the tides can turn. They have. They will.

It's not over til it's over. Hope is real, and can be realized. Just take the 18-inning game earlier this year. I missed the first inning but hung in the rest. I was in knots. It wasn't even an elimination game like this one is. I'm rushing to type this because right now, Royals fans are hoping, wishing, aching for it to not be over. There's just one out left. MadBum's doing his thing. Life is so much like baseball.  Like, for example, someone just hit a double. There was an error. Now it turned into a triple. It's entirely possible that with just one pitch, the tide may have turned. I just wanted the game to be over. My heart is in knots.

That's the good thing about baseball...it's not over til it's over. I'm not giving up hope on my Giants. But I can't count the Royals out...not yet. It could just be one pitch away...the count is 0-2. This is insane. I feel like I'm racing against time to write this post real-time. It's exhilarating and fun.

It's just about over...but the fat lady hasn't sung. How I can't wait to hear her aria. Other times I want to stave her off. C'est la vie, and c'est la October. Maybe next October I will be on the other side...but for this October ...

Mustang (Not) Sally

I drove my first Mustang recently. I only killed it once...not the first time I started it, but after I started thinking a little too hard about what I was doing. I never did figure out to get it in reverse, but let's face it: "jazz" cars are meant to go forward, not backward!

Forward, with the top all the way down,
forward, with the wind whipping your hair;
Forward, with dark sunglasses on;
forward, the music blasting your ears
Forward! 

Not backward.

Here's hoping this Sally can sally forth and get her Mustang down the right road, going only a little too fast. (Fast enough to require all of the above, but not fast enough to get the attention of the cops.) 

Fancy Amaryllis

There's a song that's been going around the radio waves that I really don't like. The problem is that it's very catchy. The lyrics don't really make sense all the time, and when they do, you wish they didn't.

For the longest time, I thought the first line of the song was "First things, first, Amaryllis." Like the singer was addressing her friend, whose parents were flowery and also maybe not very nice because they named their child Amaryllis.

Turns out, she's saying, "First things first, I'm a realist."

I was really disappointed when I found that out.

Just like I was really glad when I found out the lyrics to "All About that Bass" were really "no treble" instead of "no trouble" like she makes it sound on the recording.

*cough* Anyway.

I was talking with my sister about growing garlic the other day. I really want to grow it because I use it and because I'm trying to grow things I eat and be a little more self-sufficient in that way. I have very limited space with which to experiment, so I have to be kinda careful, but I'm really hoping that this winter's garlic experiment will turn out to be a rousing success.

I checked out a few different books about different kinds of garlic, when to plant, what they look like, etc. And that's when I found out that garlic and amaryllis are actually in the same family. Who knew that something so beautiful and something so smelly were so closely related?

I love garlic and I've always had a special spot in my heart for amaryllis, so I was pleasantly surprised to learn of their shared genetic traits.

I'm probably the last person to figure this out, but the point is the journey, right? Now I'll never forget!