I never understood why people complained about pain being incongruous with a loving God. Pain's a great organizer. What's a priority? Let pain decide. What's worth dying for? Pain will re-direct you.
Pain and writing are close cousins. I'm reminded of the guy who had a bad case of the flu. His friend empathized. Later, that friend got the same flu. The first guy, when told about it, said "Good." He meant now he could truly understand what he had gone through.
So writing is like talking about that flu. It's probably best if you really had an especially virulent case and that you took notes. Readers will instantly sympathize.
But this thing I choose to call a column, it's not about God or writing. It's about a particular strain of a pathogen born from frustration, more like a mental health affliction than like, say, full blown AIDS. The San Francisco Giants were have supposed to have exorcised their demons by winning the World Series last year. Finally, I thought, they may go in peace.
But the devil wears orange and black. Yes, they are in first place. Yes, they have the best pitching in baseball. But their offense is anemic, the worst. Their division, NL West, affords them some time yet to devise a solution while prolonging the agony of one run losses and even one run wins. A team should have one run games sprinkled in amongst 8-3 and 7-1 scores, games where both the fans and the players can take a breath.
In the SF Chronicle today one fan compared it to that scene in The Deer Hunter where the guy keeps putting a loaded gun, one chamber out of five, to his head and pulls the trigger. Anyway, it's like losing 10-1 allows one to relax, say something philosophical like, "Tomorrow's another day." That's healthy, isn't it? The Giants don't grant you that health plan.
So count your blessings? Say a prayer? Alright. Dear God, Help Misters Sabean and Bochy to do the right thing. I know they're trying. Show them the way to get a runner on third with one out to score, say, 50% of the time. That alone would bring peace to my heart. Trading for a power hitter or two would bring joy(I think Konerko is available). And Lord, in your infinite wisdom, could you take Pat Burrell out of the line-up? That would be love, the greatest of these gifts.
I have accepted losing as part of the game. Hitting, even at its best, is an exercise in failure. But the Giants . . . I can't stand their misery. Take away their pain. Support their pitchers. Give a parched throat a drink of water. Amen.
