When the Giants clinched the National League West title with almost two weeks left in the season, I put in a call to my brother in San Francisco. “We need to go to a playoff game,” I said. “It could be ten years before they get back again.” That had become my standard method of persuasion on these occasions. I didn’t add my next thought—that both of us were approaching an age where that could be too long to wait.
We arrived for Game 2 of the National League Division Series about three hours before the first pitch, a habit I had begun to instill in my brother in order to get the full experience of major league baseball. We had plenty of time to wander around outside, see former Giants star J. T. Snow interviewed in the KNBR radio booth, do a little souvenir shopping in the Dugout Store, and watch Blue Angels jets perform stunts over the bay (it also happened to be Fleet Week). I showed my brother the open archways behind right field where you could see inside the park, pointing out the Giants taking batting practice. Soon they opened the gates, and we did our traditional circuit around the lower promenade (another habit I was teaching my brother), watching the Cincinnati Reds take their batting practice. About an hour before the first pitch we arrived at our seats in the upper deck about halfway between home plate and first base. We took some pictures, including one for a couple of dedicated (and brave) Cincinnati fans dressed in team colors, and kibitzed with fans who were settling around us. The latter has always been one of my favorite activities when going to games. Where else can you strike up conversations with perfect strangers and know with absolute certainty that you’ll have plenty to talk about?
Unfortunately we mostly had misery to share with each other that night. Things looked promising in the first inning, when Giants starter Madison Bumgarner set the Reds down in order. The evening began to fall apart, however, with his first pitch of the second inning, which Reds outfielder Ryan Ludwick deposited over the center field fence. After that Bumgarner lost his composure, falling behind on most of the hitters and disintegrating completely in the fourth inning. For his part the Reds starter, Bronson Arroyo, whom I’d thought the Giants could hit from when we’d seen him in July, had absolutely no trouble with them this time around, giving up only one hit over seven innings. We finally left in the top of the eighth, when the Reds piled on more runs and I wondered why Giants manager Bruce Bochy was bothering to change pitchers. “I’ve lost faith,” I said to my seatmate as we gathered our things. “Wait,” she said, “you might be missing the greatest comeback in Giants history.”
For that, we would have had to fly to Cincinnati.
