So Close

All through the Series, win or lose, I've looked forward to the next day's paper. That's part of the experience–kind of like rolling an interesting wine around in your mouth, gargling a bit, drawing air in and over it to make sure no subtleties are missed. This morning, I couldn't face the full 20-page section of rehash. All I wanted was a little Bruce, who I was sure would understand. At first I felt his merely solid effort had failed me somehow; I read, and the pain didn't go away. But now I feel hope and excitement returning. No doubt, this is a profoundly difficult time for the true Giants fan. The prospect of this long run of happy events ending in sadness, again, looms large. And to have had it sitting there in our hands–eight outs to go, nobody on base, a five-run lead … that's plainly cruel. Rebecca says she's afraid to hope and that is wise; me, I've got no choice. I've been with this team for 30 years, since I was 10 years old and declared my independence from the Minnesota teams I had followed since spending the first five years of my life in the Midwest. We were in California now and I needed a Northern California team. The A's were winners, so naturally I shied away from them. The Giants had a history of disappointing; they would be mine. Then and now. Bring on Game 7.