Champions

"Pass this story on. Keep the love alive. And when you tell the story, simply say,

we're the Giants, we're San Francisco and we are world champions."

–Mike Krukow at the Giants championship parade

I've been rooting for the Giants longer than I can remember. This year, the term was coined, "Giants Baseball: Torture." Only real fans know that it's been like that since the team moved to San Francisco. Every person who was born a Giants fan has been experiencing this torture their whole lives.

I was rooting for them in 1989 when the earthquake shook and we lost the series to the Oakland A's. I was rooting for them in 2002, from Riverside, witnessing their meltdown against the Anaheim Angels. I rooted for them last year during their close-but-not playoff run last year. It was heartbreaking. It was torturous. But we’ve been battle hardened. We were used to it.

Last season ended and the fans said what we say every time, "We'll do better next year." Real fans always have hope, regardless of how bad we look on paper. Real fans never stop believing, as long as our team is still taking the field. Real fans never stop cheering, especially during the losing seasons when the team needs us the most.

Coming off our first winning season since 2004, there was something different about this team. They weren’t a group of superstars or divas forced to play together, they were a real team. We were hopeful for the upcoming 2010 season.

April 2010 seemed like it was ages ago. We started out the year strong, taking an early lead in the division. Between us and the Dodgers, it was going to be a fight to the finish. But as it turned out, another fresh young team stepped up to battle us for the lead. We lost our position to the San Diego Padres not long after we'd taken it, and into the summer it seemed as if it would be impossible to win it back.

But destiny has a funny way of acting out its play. The wild card race was extremely tight, so it would take a miraculous flop by the Padres for us to take back the division lead and guarantee a spot in the playoffs. In August, during a time when we felt there was no team that could be playing worse, there was a team that did –the Padres. With the playoffs knocking at our door, our team took on a new life in September. We cheered loud in the beginning of the season. We
cheered hard through the tough dog days. We were cheering louder now.

Of course, it came down to the last day. It had to. I said destiny was funny, right? But it was meant to be. We knew it. We believed it. Getting to the playoffs was awesome. But getting through the playoffs, well, that was something we only dreamed of.

No one else knew who we were, but it was ok. No one else believed in us, but it was ok. The “experts” all picked against us, but we didn’t care. We knew who we were and we believed in us and that was all we needed.

A Braves series that they thought would go the full five games only took us four to finish. A Phillies series no one thought we would win, we handled in six. Finally, in the championship against a Rangers team that only one "expert" thought we could come away with, we took in five games. A mish-mash lineup of old veterans and young talent got us through aces like Lowe, Hudson, Halladay, Oswalt, Hamels, Lee and Wilson. A starting staff and closer with exactly zero innings of playoff baseball experience made fools of former champions and the highest powered offenses in the league.

We became champions; the best team in the world. That was it. There was nothing anyone could say after that. Through all the doubts, the close losses, through the ups and downs and torture, we never stopped believing. They never stopped believing.

Everything that happened this year happened the exact way it needed to happen in order for us to get to this point. This team bled, sweat out and fought because each one wanted to win for the man beside him more than he wanted it for himself.

I’d like to believe that this team of selfless misfits and outcasts not only did it for each other, but they did it for us. They did it for Marichal, Mays and McCovey. They did it for Clark, Williams and Jose Uribe. They did it for Bonds, Snow and Aurilia. They did it for Seal Stadium, for Candlestick, for 1989 and for 2002.

From Timmy’s opening day pitch to Brian Wilson’s final strikeout, as much as they did it for each other, they did it for us. They did it for you. They did it for me.

And for that, there is only one thing I can say. To the 2010 San Francisco Giants:

Thank you.