On Wednesday night the Giants
bullpen totally crapped the bed came up short in a 4-2 loss to the hometown Cincinnati Reds. For a most of the game, however, I experienced happiness for the final time in my life the Giants had control and were lighthearted and fancy-free. For example, in the top of the fifth inning, the San Francisco bench was mesmerized by a towering Pablo Sandoval foul ball that landed in the upper deck. At least, I think that's what's happening after the jump.
Pictured, from left to right, is the Giants "middle infield" of Ryan Theriot, Brandon Crawford and Emmanuel Burriss. (I put "middle infield" in quotes, because Ryan Theriot and Emmanuel Burriss.) They're all pretty impressed by the soaring fly ball.
Or maybe that's not what they're reacting to at all. Perhaps they're locked in some sort of Rozencrantz and Guildensternian-type existential crisis. To wit:
BURRISS (Rosencrantz): What be a player -- nay, a man -- with an average of .267 and a slugging, also, of .267? What sort of existence is this. I once knew a hit of more than one base -- it is true! Do not scoff! Flew I, around the base at first, unheeded, as though driving forward a stallion of unimaginable power. Pulled I into second with a double. A heady rush of elation found I there, whenst knew of slugging percentage long forgot. The foul ball, a soaring monument to a power I ne'er possessed, nor should ever hope to. Once in mine lifetime didst the batted ball the confines escape. The year? 'Twas 2008, upon Saint Crispin's Day. Upon looking back, it seems but a mere echo, a faint memory. Indeed, it seems scarcely real at all ...
CRAWFORD (Guildenstern): Ah, all too well I understand thine quandary. For what is the worth of a man who is valued only for his expertise with the leather'd mitt, but upon chancing his leather, the ball become a-booted? Ere his worth be appraised as worthless, does this appraisal negate the man himself? This foul ball, soaring through the heavens to lofty heights -- as once did our dreams -- sails not upon a legal trajectory, thus becoming disavowed. A sure spectacle of power and prowess to our eyes, but in the annals of history ... nothing but mere failure. A reflection of ourselves; of this I am sure! The ball is us, just as we are it.
THERIOT: My hair looks okay, right?