You know what I'm talking about, right?
According to reports, the Giants have agreed to a two-year deal that eats up Tim Lincecum's final two arbitration years, and talks are progressing with an extension for Matt Cain. Cain and Lincecum. Lincecum and Cain. And the San Francisco Giants. Meant to be.
There are limits to my romanticism. Even if Cain agrees to stay past 2012, it's not exactly like the Giants have swooped in and rescued their aces from the clutches of the wrong suitors; Lincecum would be here through 2013, anyway. But longer-term, many fans this winter felt the team's lack of offense could drive first Cain, then Lincecum to the altar and into the ever-lovin' arms of the Steinbrenners, Jeffrey Loria, or -- gasp -- whoever takes over the Dodgers, which would be akin to the guy down the street with the blow-dried hair and home teeth-whitening kit taking off with your high school sweetheart.
As fans of "The Graduate" know, of course, in the above clip, where Dustin Hoffman rescues Katherine Ross from marrying the "wrong guy," what lingers not is the excitement of the rescue but the look on their faces as they tootle away on the bus. (If you haven't seen it, please do. Not only is it a great movie, but Anne Bancroft -- Mrs. Mel Brooks, no less! -- puts the Mmmmm in MILF.)
And I can't help but wonder whether, in the aftermath of celebrating the new Timmy and Matt contracts, our own reality will set in: Um, OK, now what? How good can this team be with three pitchers making $60 million the next two years and a revamped ownership group that's committed to...well, what, exactly? Fiscal responsibility? Pitching and defense and homegrown hitters? It's all well and good if the organization becomes Atlanta West, with a constant infusion of excellent young hitting talent, and certainly the record has improved the past couple years with Sandoval, Posey, and perhaps Brandon Belt. (I'll add Gary Brown to the list in August if he has run roughshod through AA ball all summer.)
But I'm not convinced they can build a pipeline of talent to make up for the complete disdain for free-agent hitters. What's more, the disdain seems mutual. Note, for instance, the Cody Ross situation. Ross, a guy who could bank the goodwill of 2010 for years in this town, reportedly wanted multiple years to re-sign with the Giants. He ended up getting one year with the Red Sox, and half his previous salary.
So what we have, as we giggle on the back of the bus at the thrill of the moment's reunion, is a team reliant on homegrown hitters (dependent on scouting and player development with a spotty track record); homegrown pitching (dependent on scouting, development, and lots of health luck -- with an excellent track record); and a manager who will have to handle young rosters sprinkled with down-on-their-luck free agent veterans. On that last point, I was content with Bochy's style until the Huff/Belt situation last year, when Huff's screamingly bad year kept grinding on without a wholesale Belt-for-Huff replacement. If Huff receives similar slack this year, I'll start polishing my pitchfork.
Of course, nothing in this sport is til death do us part. With global warming, prevailing winds could shift and blow pop-ups to second base over the brick wall and into McCovey Cove, prompting Prince Fielder to tear up his new Tigers' contract and demand to sign with San Francisco. Or something like that.
Point is, things change; strategies should be flexible. But I'm prepared for a long relationship set by the parameters spelled out this winter: We're not going to pay a lot for this Beltran Muffler! And maybe that will be fine. The team avoids the expensive free-agent duds by avoiding expensive free agents entirely, Buster Posey will beget Conor Gillaspie, who will beget Gary Brown, who will beget Tommy Joseph, Angel Villalona will pay his debt to society with 40 home runs a year, and a long line of young mashin' Giants will make Mays Field rock while the healthy and expensive pitching staff rolls.
That's certainly better than a long run of Giants' offense set to the tune of "The Sounds of Silence." (Or is it "The Sound of Silence"?)
According to reports, the Giants have agreed to a two-year deal that eats up Tim Lincecum's final two arbitration years, and talks are progressing with an extension for Matt Cain. Cain and Lincecum. Lincecum and Cain. And the San Francisco Giants. Meant to be.
There are limits to my romanticism. Even if Cain agrees to stay past 2012, it's not exactly like the Giants have swooped in and rescued their aces from the clutches of the wrong suitors; Lincecum would be here through 2013, anyway. But longer-term, many fans this winter felt the team's lack of offense could drive first Cain, then Lincecum to the altar and into the ever-lovin' arms of the Steinbrenners, Jeffrey Loria, or -- gasp -- whoever takes over the Dodgers, which would be akin to the guy down the street with the blow-dried hair and home teeth-whitening kit taking off with your high school sweetheart.
As fans of "The Graduate" know, of course, in the above clip, where Dustin Hoffman rescues Katherine Ross from marrying the "wrong guy," what lingers not is the excitement of the rescue but the look on their faces as they tootle away on the bus. (If you haven't seen it, please do. Not only is it a great movie, but Anne Bancroft -- Mrs. Mel Brooks, no less! -- puts the Mmmmm in MILF.)
And I can't help but wonder whether, in the aftermath of celebrating the new Timmy and Matt contracts, our own reality will set in: Um, OK, now what? How good can this team be with three pitchers making $60 million the next two years and a revamped ownership group that's committed to...well, what, exactly? Fiscal responsibility? Pitching and defense and homegrown hitters? It's all well and good if the organization becomes Atlanta West, with a constant infusion of excellent young hitting talent, and certainly the record has improved the past couple years with Sandoval, Posey, and perhaps Brandon Belt. (I'll add Gary Brown to the list in August if he has run roughshod through AA ball all summer.)
But I'm not convinced they can build a pipeline of talent to make up for the complete disdain for free-agent hitters. What's more, the disdain seems mutual. Note, for instance, the Cody Ross situation. Ross, a guy who could bank the goodwill of 2010 for years in this town, reportedly wanted multiple years to re-sign with the Giants. He ended up getting one year with the Red Sox, and half his previous salary.
So what we have, as we giggle on the back of the bus at the thrill of the moment's reunion, is a team reliant on homegrown hitters (dependent on scouting and player development with a spotty track record); homegrown pitching (dependent on scouting, development, and lots of health luck -- with an excellent track record); and a manager who will have to handle young rosters sprinkled with down-on-their-luck free agent veterans. On that last point, I was content with Bochy's style until the Huff/Belt situation last year, when Huff's screamingly bad year kept grinding on without a wholesale Belt-for-Huff replacement. If Huff receives similar slack this year, I'll start polishing my pitchfork.
Of course, nothing in this sport is til death do us part. With global warming, prevailing winds could shift and blow pop-ups to second base over the brick wall and into McCovey Cove, prompting Prince Fielder to tear up his new Tigers' contract and demand to sign with San Francisco. Or something like that.
Point is, things change; strategies should be flexible. But I'm prepared for a long relationship set by the parameters spelled out this winter: We're not going to pay a lot for this Beltran Muffler! And maybe that will be fine. The team avoids the expensive free-agent duds by avoiding expensive free agents entirely, Buster Posey will beget Conor Gillaspie, who will beget Gary Brown, who will beget Tommy Joseph, Angel Villalona will pay his debt to society with 40 home runs a year, and a long line of young mashin' Giants will make Mays Field rock while the healthy and expensive pitching staff rolls.
That's certainly better than a long run of Giants' offense set to the tune of "The Sounds of Silence." (Or is it "The Sound of Silence"?)
