The allure of defeat

Giants' story is more compelling than that of the Angels

Losers are more interesting than winners. Always have been. Many writers will tell you that the stories that come from the teams and players who have fallen short are richer than the ones that come from those who have succeeded. At the Olympics, some photographers rush to get a shot of the athlete who finishes fourth, just out of the medals, instead of the one who finishes first, because it's often a more memorable picture. It's because the reaction to victory is almost always the same, while the ways of dealing with defeat vary widely. Leo Tolstoy once wrote, "All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." He wasn't talking about the Angels and Giants, but he could have been.

The Angels were the happy family Sunday night, the absolute picture of elation after winning Game 7 of the World Series. They celebrated in the usual way, with a dogpile on the infield, and hugs and smiles and arms raised triumphantly in the air. They earned their joy, and congratulations to them, but does anyone, other than Anaheim fans, not think the more compelling scenes were in the Giants' dugout?

There was Barry Bonds, sitting in shadows as he watched the Angels frolic on the field, his face like stone. What was going on behind those emotionless eyes? Was he crying inside at the loss of his best, and possibly last, chance at a World Series title? Was he cursing the Giants' bullpen, which had blown the five-run lead in Game 6? Did the possibility cross his mind, even briefly, that he still had a shot at Series MVP even in defeat?

There was no such mystery in the face of Dusty Baker's 3-year-old son, Darren , the new media darling, his cheeks glistening from tears. He was distraught at the loss, and the image of him burying his head in his father's shoulder was so heartbreaking, you wanted to say to the Angels' fans, "Could you stop beating those infernal ThunderStix for a minute? Can't you see a little boy is crying?"

Then there was Baker himself, carrying little Darren out of the dugout, a father more than a manager at that moment, accepting condolences from one of his coaches but looking as if he really just wanted to get his son somewhere to comfort him. Baker showed the kind of humanity that must be one of the reasons he is so uniformly popular among his players. It's also one of the reasons the Giants would be fools to let someone outbid them for his services. Baker's contract expires in several days, and the Seattle Mariners and Chicago Cubs are expected to come knocking on his door the moment it does.

Normally, there's nothing worse than a free agent dragging out his decision. More often than not, the free agent lets the process play out longer than necessary just to receive a few more strokes of his ego from his suitors. But in Baker's case, we'll make an exception. Here's hoping that he drags his feet, that he sits back and lets any team that's interested make a fuss over him. Let the Giants, Cubs and Mariners praise him in the media for his leadership style, for his ability to connect with his players. Let the columnists urge their local teams in print to do whatever's necessary to sign him. Let the world see an African-American being highly regarded and hotly pursued for his abilities as a leader of men. It's a sight that's too rarely seen in sports.

The same can be said for the losers. Let us see more of them. Misery not only loves company, it also begs for an audience.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Phil Taylor writes about a Hot Button issue every Monday on CNNSI.com

 

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