Tonight, the Giants and Royals will play Game Seven of the World Series in Kansas City.
The Royals’ season-long fifth starter – and arguably worst pitcher – Jeremy Guthrie will take the mound against the Giants’ thirty-nine year old Tim Hudson. Both pitched in the only close game of the series Friday night, which the Royals won 3-2. It was relatively smooth sailing for Guthrie through five innings as he gave up two runs on four hits without a walk or strikeout. Kansas City’s stellar bullpen stifled San Francisco from there, allowing just two baserunners through four shut out innings. With all hands on deck for both squads tonight, including Madison Bumgarner for the Giants, the Royals will likely need a similar herculean effort from their bullpen, combined with the hitting onslaught from last night’s game, in order to okay, sorry, but I’m going to have to stop.
I’m so freaking nervous that I can’t think straight, much less fortify an argument with stats.
For weeks (OK, months), I have refrained from commenting (with any depth, anyway) on just how insane the words “World” and “Series” and “Royals” and “Kauffman Stadium” all sound in the same sentence/paragraph/universe. The occasional Twitter rally or motivational Facebook post have sufficed thus far.
I could opine about how this improbable World Series run, full of excellent pitching (nod to the bullpen), breakout performances (Eric Hosmer!), unlikely heroes (Moooooose), and SPEED (did you know who Terrance Gore was before this whole thing?) has revitalized a fan base that had been sapped for the last twenty-nine years. (By the way, did you know it had been twenty-nine years sinc…oh you did?)
I could go on about how their homecoming means a return to their comfortable AL lineup, pre-packaged decision-making for manager Ned Yost (bless his heart), and what will surely be a proverbial zoo in Kauffman Stadium. No need. The Royals showed last night (with some assistance from colossal batted ball luck) how much they enjoyed their return to normality after getting throttled in two straight games on the road.
The only thing I can really add is my personal view, my pounding, swelling, delirious heart, one in hundreds of thousands. It has been a very surreal, gut-wrenching experience. Its like being taken to the taffy pulling room night after night, the invisible hand of series momentum stretching and compressing the brain and stomach.
It has also been wonderful beyond any reasonable Royals fan’s wildest imagination.
There’s the AL Wild Card game, with the erasure of a four-run deficit in the ninth and a one-run deficit in the twelfth, with a walk-off hit coming on a pitch 18 inches off the plate. There’s the AL Division series, and the stifling of baseball’s best team in the Los Angeles Angels. There’s the four-game sweep of Baltimore. Stolen bases, infield singles, and bunts galore. The three-headed bullpen monster and the best outfield in baseball.
Here, at the cusp of Game Seven, there is nothing left to say about how ridiculously awesome this ride has been. Either way it ends, I’ll be proud as hell to have lived through it. If the Royals are crowned tonight, I may explode.
I’m looking forward to cleaning myself up.
The Replacement-Level Lebowski 