The Sound of Silence

If you asked me on Monday morning, November 1st, if I thought I'd be going to Game 5 of the World Series that night, I'd have said no way. But then my fellow NorCal friend and coworker and the only person commiserating and celebrating with me throughout the series informed me he had bought tickets. His choice words: Get on board.

Done. I apologized to my credit card, trying to explain why paying so much for standing room only tickets in a ballpark in Arlington, Texas was worth it. The nerves in my stomach started at 10:45 a.m. and lasted up until Wilson's final pitch. The jalepenos on the nachos probably didn't help either.

The underdogs are up.

Frankly, I had emotionally prepared myself for a Game 6. Sort of "worst-case scenario" thinking. Would Lee really pitch two crappy games? Would the Giants really show up to play great baseball again? Mentally and physically I tried to do what I could to prevent Game 6. I wore the same hoodie to the game that I wore watching all the other games, unwashed. Hadn't showered since before Game 4. Whether or not I changed my underwear we won't go into here. Giants ballpark cup brought to pre-drink from. I'll be honest, I was even drinking Anchor Steam. Snobby? Sort of. Superstitious? Fuck yes.

The game went by fast. I was a decent fan, cheering for my team but not heckling by any means (Have you seen the size of people here? I'm not really going to mess with Texas). Of course, when you're the only Giants fan in shouting radius, even giving a single "whoooooooh!" in a sea of Rangers fans will make you sound like an asshole. It's cool though because when the Giants finally scored a few runs, let me tell you, the glares I got from those Texans really felt awesome. Oh I'm sorry, is the support I'm showing my team bothering you? Oh, I'm sorry, I just said "Yessssssssss" under my breath again, didn't I? Bring it, Plano mom in your bedazzled Rangers jersey. Bring. It.

The seventh, eighth, and beginning of the ninth sort of blurred together, I'll be honest. Not just from the rapid pace I was drinking beer but I was just hoping we could get through the game quickly, keep our lead and win the series already. And then Wilson came out. And the crowd went quiet.

The grip on my plastic WS cup tightened.

One out. Seriously, this cup is going to be permanently deformed.

Two outs. I can't feel my hand and I've made this cup into an origami cowboy.

I was repeating "GIANTSGIANTSGIANTSGIANTSGIANTS" under my breath. I'm sure I looked crazy. Perfectly crazy, just like the team and city I love.

And finally, strike three. Third and final out. And that was it. It was quiet. From behind the standing room only crowd I could see the Giants running onto the field, but there was almost no noise. No cheering. No booing. Just an odd silence. And then it finally hit me. The silence could only mean one thing: The Rangers lost. The Giants had won. Just like that.

The sound of silence. That's the best sound I've heard in a long time.

It's a once in a lifetime experience to stand in a group of a couple hundred (at most?) Giants fans in Texas and hear them sing Journey's "When the Lights Go Down in the City," hear them chant, "Thank-you-Gi-ants!" and hear the 60-something guy next to you who has waited almost his entire life for this moment, continue to say to nobody in particular, "They did it. I can't believe they did it."

Thank you, Giants, for making this girl from the Bay Area so proud.