I owe you an apology, Giants Nation.
The reason for me not writing you last Friday was not because I had better things to do. And it was certainly not because I had lost faith in my most favorite sports franchise on the face of the planet.
It was because I have been so incredibly nervous and beside myself that I was afraid that whatever I wrote, no matter how neutrally-grounded it might have been, it could have jinxed the entire NLCS.
Well, that and I have a very old laptop that is threatening to die on me at any second. But that’s a whole other problem.
I am incredibly superstitious. (Please, save your Stevie Wonder puns for someone who hasn’t already heard them 2 million times.)
I have worn nothing but orange, black, white and gray for the past several weeks. I’ve refused to eat a certain food or listen to certain songs on my iPod, as it might have altered how my Giants performed against the St. Louis Cardinals.
And wouldn’t you know it? Those superstitions were enough to shut up the big mouths of Joe Buck and Tim McCarver and everybody else who was oh-so-sure that the Cards would shut my team out so easily.
Not only did Marco Scutaro rise above and beyond whatever hit Matt Holliday put on him — whether it was dirty or not is your call — but every guy from Brandon Belt to Hunter Pence made an offensive contribution.
And Barry Zito — of all pitchers in our starting rotation — had the outing of his major league career.
So bring on Verlander, Valverde, and whatever other V-named guy you want to throw at my boys.
Because a bird in the hand… just stamped our ticket to the World Series.
And I don’t know about you, but I fear no tigres.
I will catch up with all of you on Wednesday and we can go over some stats. But for right now, take some time to celebrate. Bars are open and full of champagne, and we have some celebrating to do.
Peace, Love and There’s-Only-One-October.