Lee, who was one of the first comic book writers to feature superheroes as more than one-dimensional good guys, is the most revered figure in the world of comics today. That didn’t always mean a lot. In a 2002 interview on NPR’s Fresh Air, Lee recalled that for many years he was ashamed to tell people what he did for a living because comics were regarded as trash. His fear was justified; those whom he told at parties after persistent questioning would recoil and treat him for the rest of the evening as if he had a communicable disease. In the same interview, Lee also talked about growing up in the Depression and watching his father, an unemployed dress cutter in New York, pore over want ads for years and wishing desperately that he could find a job. Lee cited that experience as a reason for his persistence in writing comic books despite his embarrassment and artistic frustration early in his career. For better or worse, it was a steady job. Now, with superheroes as stars of big-budget movies aimed at lucrative younger audiences, comics are prized in the marketplace, and Lee, if he were so inclined, could make a good income doing nothing but appearing in public and signing his name. You can’t help but feel glad for him, and it is heartening to know that with hard work, creativity and a little luck (OK, maybe a lot), America can still be a land of opportunity.
After Lee was done, there was the trifling business of a baseball game to play against the visiting New York Mets. Seeing that Tim Hudson, the Giants’ new free-agent acquisition, was on the mound with his 1.75 ERA, I had figured that a win was virtually guaranteed. For the first few innings, though, it seemed that I would be punished for my hubris. Hudson, who normally induces hitters to get themselves out with ground balls to the infield, kept throwing his sinker into the dirt and falling behind in the count. The fastballs he was then obligated to throw got hit, and in almost every inning he had to pitch out of the stretch with men on base. Somehow he managed to last five innings and give up only three runs, but for a while it looked like that wouldn’t be good enough, because the Mets’ starter, the 41-year-old and noticeably portly Bartolo Colon, did a better job of getting out of trouble in the early innings. The Giants finally managed to get to Colon in the sixth when Angel Pagan hit a flare to left field with the bases loaded, but they were still down 4-3, and the Mets’ bullpen preserved the lead going into the ninth.
The Giants’ winning streak when I had my daughter Jillian with me at the park looked in danger of ending, but we needn’t have worried. Pagan struck out to start the inning, but the third strike went to the backstop and the catcher’s throw to first was wide, which gave the Giants a base runner while the scoreboard flashed the crestfallen face of the catcher onscreen. Hunter Pence then came up and promptly hit a double down the left field line, scoring Pagan and erasing all anxiety from the crowd. After Buster Posey lined out, the end came quickly with an intentional walk and a single that scored Pence for the win. Just another day at the office.
Perhaps I should ask the Giants for season tickets. Jillian might be the acquisition they need to keep their even-year championship run going.
