Giants 2, Marlins 1: Before I berate Brian Wilson for giving me a pulmonary thrombosis and relapsing-regressing acute nervosa* as well as the typical cardiac fucking arrest, let me advise you, dear readers, to tune into the radio broadcast next time there's a rain delay. If you're lucky you'll catch Jon Miller telling stories. The Giants' tour of the White House: we heard about it in detail. We heard about 1970s A's catcher Gene Tenace lying near home plate in pain after fouling a ball off his foot and yelling at Miller in the Tiger Stadium broadcast booth, which was right behind home plate. The smarty-pantses at This American Life should sit Miller down and let the recording equipment roll. He's one of the country's greatest storytellers.
(* Not necessarily real medical conditions. Please consult your doctor.)
Now, to tonight's game: Juan Uribe saved Brian Wilson's fuzzy-mohawked ass after Wilson walked the bases loaded with a one-run lead. With two outs, Cantu chopped one slowly between third and short, Uribe backhanded it and with his momentum heading the wrong way threw a strike to first.
Disaster seemed inevitable after a night of stranded runners, guys thrown out at home, and Barry Zito undecided if he was this year's model or the '07/'08 version. He could only go five innings, but he showed why he's a different pitcher this year in the fourth. Hit batter, single, single and the bases were loaded with one out and the #8 hitter up. Old Giant Zito would have walked him, gone 0-2 and hit him, or gone 3-1 and grooved an 82-MPH fastball. New Giant Zito struck him out, then struck out the pitcher to end the inning.
I'm glad it was an East Coast game. If it ended this way at 10:45pm Pacific, I wouldn't be able to sleep without a double shot of Benadryl.
