I'm baaaaacccckkkkk....

On Monday November 1, 2010, forty-three seasons of disappointment came to a thunderous end with the victory of the San Francisco Giants in the World Series. It was an exhausting three weeks, and worth every minute of it. Forty three years! Think about that: none of my three kids were born when my love affair with the Giants began, my Beautiful Girl was ten years away from her wondrous existence, I still believed the Catholic Church was a force for good, and the Democratic Party hadn't even made the slightest dent in my conscienceness. What a long strange trip it's been. For posterity: I had to work on the eventful evening, and as the last inning approached, I had to make a decision. Do I stay at work to watch the end (major depressing thought as I don't particularly care for either my job or the company I work for) or try to make it home before the last out? I opted for the latter and headed home. In a most unusual twist, the Giants decided not to have a tortuous last inning and I was barely five minutes into my drive home when the last out occurred. Now many people would have been disappointed by this, but as I drove, for some odd reason, I remembered when my love for the Giants first began at age eight, and lying in my bed listening to their games with Russ Hodges (HR call: "Bye, Bye, Baby!") and Lon Simmons (HR call: "And you can tell it goodbye!") on my family's little black transistor radio (yes, kids, back in the day most games weren't on TV) and for some odd reason it seemed entirely poetic that I would be listening to their first ever World Championship on the radio. What goes around, comes around.... Baseball, as life, is a beautiful game. Peace, emaycee