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Unhappily ever after Destiny's darlings done in by Team DifficultPosted: Tuesday October 15, 2002 4:13 AMUpdated: Tuesday October 15, 2002 4:17 AM
SAN FRANCISCO -- As the champagne sprayed and the Nelly blasted and San Francisco’s ridiculously unprofessional TV reporters offered hugs and high-fives to Giants players, a harsh reality entered my mind. There is no God. How else to explain it? The San Francisco Giants, led by Barry "I Am Soooooo Much Better Than You, It’s Not Even Funny" Bonds are heading to the World Series, and the St. Louis Cardinals are going home to a cold, tundra-like winter by the Arch. There is no God. What about destiny? This was supposed to be the Cardinals’ season, and everybody knew it. Save for the Yankees losing captain Thurman Munson in a plane crash 23 years ago, had any major league team endured more than St. Louis? First, it was the death of Jack Buck, the institutioned broadcaster with the golden tongue. Then, even more shockingly, it was Darryl Kile, a 33-year-old starting pitcher with a wife and three young children. Ever since June, when both tragedies occurred, the feisty Cardinals fought through the pain and agony and depression to win the NL Central, then sweep defending champion Arizona in the NL Division Series. With each triumph, players would point to Kile’s No. 57 uniform, which dangled in a Busch Stadium locker. There is no God. How else to explain Kenny Lofton, standing on a podium in the Giants’ clubhouse, suddenly the darling of the Bay ball? Lofton has spent 12 years as a major league baseball player and, from up-and-coming rookie to established starter to All-Star to still-pretty-good player to a not-especially-good one to shouldn’t-be-starting to his present status as near-has-been, Lofton has managed to maintain an extraordinarily high level of treating the 99.99999 percent of humanity (those who are not family members or celebrities) as crud. I am in my fifth year as a baseball writer, and in that time I have seen Bonds and Frank Thomas and Will Clark and David Justice and Ugueth Urbina and Albert Belle and Kevin Brown and most every other goodwill-deprived athlete the sport has to offer. They are all difficult to embrace. Lofton is impossible. The most recent graphic example took place on the Giants’ workout day last Friday. As media members and team executives lingered along the third base line of Pacific Bell Park, Lofton and teammate Shawon Dunston prepared to play catch. With three writers standing in between the two men, Lofton yelled to Dunston, "Shawon, throw the ball! Throw the ball!" Dunston, as any Homo sapien with the slightest shred of decency would do, shrugged, noting that brain damage was one hard toss away. Lofton was undeterred. He picked up a ball from the ground and chucked it, hard and inches above one man’s head. "You gotta teach ‘em a lesson!" he said. "That’s how they learn!" It is now quite easy to forget that Lofton nearly blew everything for San Francisco, both with an 0-for-14 mid-NLCS slump and, in Game 5, a play that -- had the Cards won -- could have transformed Lofton into the goat. In the top of the seventh, everyone who has ever been victim to Kenny’s bite received an early Christmas gift, one that exceeded the value of any Ferrari 355 Spider or Tiffany’s bracelet. With no score and Felix Rodriguez on the mound, St. Louis catcher Mike Matheny led off the inning with a whizzing liner to right center. With all his might, Lofton chased down the ball, only to have it settle in the tip of his glove and -- oops! -- pop out. Lofton immediately fell to the ground, got up and slipped again. Five years ago, it was a play he would have easily made. Two years ago, it was a play he would have probably made. This year, it was a play he didn’t make. Matheny scored two batters later, giving his club a 1-0 advantage. With Matt Morris cruising, it looked like the Cardinals were a lock. There is no God. The Cardinals were not a lock. Lofton drove in Dunston with the winning run, and destiny took a back seat to reality. The team that Jack Buck and Darryl Kile inspired are yesterday’s news. Bonds and Lofton, the Hall & Oates of arrogance, are heading to the World Series. There is no God. |
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