Dear Timothy LeRoy Freaky-Franchise Sir,
I’m writing you not as a fan, not as a sportswriter, but as a little tutu-wearing blonde with little patience for Fox’s garbage announcers, and on the verge of a baseball-adoring meltdown.
Here we are on the morning before Game 4 of the NLCS and, whaddya-know, the skipper is going to put the ball in your hand and send you out to the bump to start the game under a rain-threatening St. Louis sky.
From the side of me that’s a fan, I’m incredibly thrilled. And nervous as hell.
I’ve been stoked with your bullpen performance. It has been stellar; nay, top-notch. From where those TV cameras give us viewers a gander, your pitch placement against the Cincinnati Reds was nothing short of incredible.
None of us know exactly what it is that you’re doing differently. Perhaps it’s the fact that you haven’t actually known when you’re going to pitch and that gives you less time to over-think your performance.
Perhaps the autumn air has been more to your liking and it agrees more with your hooded-sweatshirt-sporting regimen. Or heck, maybe you’ve stumbled upon a primo bud shipment from a country in the Southern Hemisphere that has given you the mental clarity to go eight innings this post-season and only allow one run.
Whatever the reason, it resulted in a very impressive 1.42 ERA for the series against the Reds. And a 1.08 ERA for the whole post-season.
Despite an unexpectedly sub-par season and the weight of a whole game’s fate on your shoulders, I’ve tried to remain positive and believe that — while saying “the old Timmy is back” is just plain stupid — you would find your stride and start putting more hashes in that win column.
Not to mention a post-season win during the LDS when you pitched six scoreless innings out of the pen.
And despite what has been an incredible post-season run in the bullpen, I’m still a crazy little ball of nerves likened to a cracked-out character on “Robot Chicken.”
Because this is the post-season, and this is what championship ball does to die-hard fans.
It makes us into crazy people. We forget our responsibilities as human beings, such as family plans, friendly obligations, and keeping our jobs.
Except that my job is to talk sports all day, so I get to dissect the Giants’ post-season performance to my little October-Classic-seeking heart’s desire.
So do yourself, your team, and all the rest of us crazy Giants fans a solid, and dominate the Cardinals in Game 4.
I’ll be here on the City by the Bay with the rest of Giants Nation, screaming at the TV for you and rest of the squad to tie the series up 2-2.
Peace, Love & Tacolicious, dude.