(By e.Chang)

The Week That Was:
Won 2, lost 1 against the Phillies.
Won 1, lost 2 against the Rays.

49-61 for the season; last place in the NL West (12 games back).

The Week That Will Be:
Mon: home against the Brewers (Grateful Dead Tribute Night, bobblehead giveaway)
Tue: home against the Brewers (Jewish Heritage Night, dreidel giveaway; Singles Night, heeeyyy!)
Wed: home against the Brewers (Italian Heritage Night, t-shirt giveaway)
Thu: home against the Brewers.
Fri: home against the Orioles (Wine Fest, wine stopper giveaway).
Sat: home against the Orioles (Virgin America 2-for-1 flight voucher; Fellowship Day)
Sun: home against the Orioles (free kids lunch bag

When I was in high school, I ran in two different social circles; I had my neighborhood friends and I had my rich friends. My rich friends weren't the children of millionaires or anything, but they didn't have metal bars on their first-story windows either. And although they were only a 20-minute drive down 280 from where I lived, to my 16-year old eyes, we seemed a world apart.

Once, as we were getting ready to leave for some church camp, I noticed that one of the girls had packed a GAP hoodie, and I thought, "a GAP sweater? But, but, what if it gets ripped?!" A hoodie like that must have cost, what, $50? If I had a sweater like that, it would have been my GOOD sweater, the one I'd wear on Fridays, and I would never think to take it camping. And that's when it hit me--these people were FANCY!

After that, I could never take their problems seriously. We all had the same issues that most teenagers had--parents, relationships, SAT scores--but whenever I heard any of them complaining, I would roll my eyes and whisper something under my breath about how their mom's new car had a 6-disc CD changer and so they needed to take their crying to someone who cared. Spoiled brats.

We are the rich friends, us Giants fans. In the socio-economic landscape of baseball fandom, Giants fans live in Downton Abbey. We have Cy Youngs and MVP's and Rookie of the Years. But most importantly, our team won the World Series. Twice. In three years. That makes us hella rich and ain't no one wanna hear our complaining about nothing.

Oh, your team is having problems at the lead-off position? You poor, precious thing.
Barry Zito lost his spot in the rotation? Ask me if I care.
Your team is in last place? Cry me a river.
The Dodgers, the team that represents everything that is unholy and foul, are in 1st? Good, and I hope they kick your puppy.

Like when a rapper moves from the projects to the penthouse, Giants fans have lost our privilege to complain. Oh, we can still do it, but it'll be like complaining to your bros over a brewski at Matrix how your maid just can't seem to fold your underwear right. This Giants season will be exactly 162 games and will end on September 29 against the Padres. As we come to accept this truth, we have solace in knowing that, you know what? We're rich, bitch! Yes, the Giants have problems and we fans are disappointed, but we have butlers and footmen and chambermaids, and the prospect of finishing in last place isn't as soul-crushing as it otherwise would be. It turns out there is comfort in sleeping on a bed made of championship trophies, and our Sleep Numbers are 2010 and 2012. So, as fans, we'll abide by Rule #12 and bask in the reflective glory of the recent past and refrain from complaining. We'll still care, we just won't complain--in front of the poors, anyway.

*****

Now that the season is unofficially over, we can sift through the rubble to see where things went wrong. I could do statistical analysis of the pitching staff or examine the outcomes of left-handed batters against right-handed pitchers during evening road games, but I'm a stupid man and I like simple, reductionist answers. Therefore, I present May 25.

If Giants fans didn't already know how important Buster Posey was to the team, it was made glaringly clear on May 25, 2011, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with homicidal intent, crashed into Buster at home plate, breaking Buster's leg. Half of us cried, half of us sent our fists through walls, half of us did both, and all of us knew that the Giants' season was over. As Buster went, so went the Giants.

Exactly two years later, on May 25 of this year, in the 10th inning, Angel Pagan hit a walk-off, inside-the-park home run, miraculously keeping the Giants tied for 1st place. That was his last at-bat this year as Angel underwent surgery to repair his hamstring. The Giants hung onto 1st place for one more game before cratering. As Angel went, so went the Giants.

May 25 hates you and you should hate it.

*****

This Saturday, August 10, will mark the 24th anniversary of Dave Dravecky's short-lived return to the mound.