I splurged on Thursday night in reverence of the Giants being in the playoffs, and ponied up ten bucks for a subscription to MLB Network’s post season Internet package. These games are already being televised on TBS, but it’s good to have a distraction from Dick Stockton’s head in high def, looking like some kind of Just For Men experiment gone terribly awry. Stockton is quite possibly the only individual in America next to whom Bob Brenly’s hair color can be described as “natural.” Brenly bore a strong resemblance to porn star Harry Reems back in his playing days catching for the Giants. But a career spent taking foul balls off the shins apparently wears a guy out faster than one being serviced by Linda Lovelace. Regardless, he and Stockton could both take a hint from Reems and allow their remaining locks to go gray, as the result is far more flattering.
Aesthetics aside, I bought the MLB package so I could watch the Giants’ dugout on my laptop during the broadcast. They let you choose from all camera angles available to TBS, so it’s kind of like having a personal spy cam at your disposal. I tried it out with the Yankee dugout in the early game, but quickly grew tired of Joe Girardi’s square-jawed profile and brown, tobacco-stained chiclets. When the Giants broadcast started the first thing I noticed was that their dugout looked a lot less professional than the Yankees’, with a couple of dopey looking, helmet-headed bat boys roaming the foreground at all times. But after the game got under way the cameraman was obviously under strict instruction to stay focused on Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum for the bottom of every inning.
Watching Lincecum on the bench is different from watching Lincecum on the mound. He sat alone for the entire game, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to describe his appearance as “sickly.” He was pale, gaunt, his knee bounced nervously until the later innings, and he coughed, spat, twitched, filed his nails, and retreated frequently to the clubhouse. Combined with his kid-like appearance, the effect wasn’t unlike watching an ad for pediatric Theraflu. This ongoing reminder of Lincecum’s dugout mortality was enough to distract me temporarily from the immortal effort he was delivering between the lines. Nine innings, fourteen strikeouts and no runs later, he completed a 1-0 playoff win that some would judge superior to Roy Halladay’s no-hitter the night before.
The next morning I was again on my laptop, listening to the Giants’ home radio station KNBR in San Francisco. (It’s difficult to imagine how transplanted sports fans survived prior to the Internet age.) The two hosts were discussing the game, and baseball in general, with ex Journey front man Steve Perry. I’ve never been a huge Journey fan, but in describing how he became a Giants follower in 2002, Perry caught my attention. “I’d been through a bad personal breakup and grown sick of music,” Perry explained. “I didn’t like the way anyone could use a program like ‘Pro Tools’ to make a record, even if they couldn’t play or sing.” He then described going to a ballgame and being overwhelmed with the fact that, no matter how much the game is hyped, in the end players still have to play. I liked the analogy, and it made me think of Tim Lincecum the night before, looking like a frail kid on the bench in between heading out to the hill and throwing nine lights-out innings of nasty, untouchable stuff. As off-track as it sometimes gets, there’s still a lot to like about this game.
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