Reflections on a Championship Season

Nine years ago, I saw a future first-ballot Hall of Famer pitch the series of his life, rallying his team back from three straight heartbreaking losses and showing the whole world why he might just be the greatest left handed pitcher of all time.  I saw a team that had no quit, a team that never said never, and I saw a mighty empire toppled by a mere bloop.

Eight years ago, I saw a king still enjoying his golden years, untainted by the scandals ahead.  I saw my very own hometown team surge into the playoffs, carrying the spirit and hopes of an entire city with it.  I saw the magic of an October run and I found myself engulfed irreversibly by its allure.  I saw a closer selflessly give his arm up in an attempt to save his team... and then, I saw the brutal meaning of "six outs away" - the cruelty of false hope and heartbreak.

Seven years ago, I saw a chance at redemption fall short thanks to a dropped fly ball.

Six years ago, I saw a comeback attempt end in a heartbreaking collapse at the home of a hated rival.

In the few years after that, I saw the beginning of the end to an era permanently tainted by a steroid scandal, to the misguided philosophy of building a team around one person, and to the reign of a homerun king.  I saw a fallen hero take one last swing in the spotlight, before giving way to the inevitable change ahead.

From the ashes of the previous era, I saw the birth of a new team.  I saw a ray of hope sprout with the emergence of an oft-overlooked workhorse who flirted with history before history had known of him - a pitcher who now anchors the rotation with his strength and consistency.  Slowly, but surely, the young began to replace the aging, and a revolution had begun.  And of course, I saw the debut of a superstar, who couldn't have looked older than 12 and yet possessed an aura unlike any I had ever seen...

Two years ago, I saw the re-emergence of hope for the first time in half a decade.  I saw a kid take the reins as the staff ace, captivating an entire city en route to becoming the city's first Cy Young award winner in over four decades.  But, even so, I had stood by miserably and watched as the team fell well short again...

Last year, I saw a real team begin to take shape, a team filled with both energy and talent at its core.  I saw a bullpen gain its teeth.  I saw a true closer emerge for the first time in nearly a decade, bringing back memories of the legend that sacrificed himself in 2002.  I saw a starting staff that, even in its prematurity, showed enormous potential and stood up to any lineup thrown against it.  But, again, I saw a team still a stretch away from the promise land...

And then there was this year.  I saw a freak show his vulnerability for the first time in his career.  I saw a team struggle daily to find offense.  I saw an overpaid pitcher regain the trust and love of a city, only to lose it again in a matter of months.  I saw a beloved catcher traded away in hopes for change.  I saw a team of nobodys that flirted with .500 as late as June, a fanbase frustrated with the apparently complacent moves of a general manager, and a six and a half game deficit at the start of the season's final month.

But, at the same time, from a group of misfits, I saw the emergence of a real team.  I saw a team invigorated by the ascension of two veterans disguised as rookies.  I saw a team scratch and claw through more nail-biting moments than anybody's nails could take.  I saw a team that reminded the whole world how baseball was meant to be played.  I saw a team that didn't just feature one great player, but an entire supporting cast that proved just as important as the stars themselves.  I saw a group of players that refused to quit, that believed even when nobody else did, that spurned all critics.  I saw former rejects turn into postseason legends, their feats forever embedded into the hearts of fans.  I saw half a century of misery erased by a magical month and replaced by an incomparable rush of joy and elation.

I saw a championship year.

They did it.  They really did it.

--------------

But so much has changed since then.  NLCS hero Juan Uribe is now a Dodger.  World Series MVP Edgar Renteria probably isn't coming back.  Postseason pitching god Cliff Lee is now in Philadelphia.  Miguel Tejada has joined the mix.  The national spotlight is back on the east coast again and the Red Sox and Phillies have already surpassed the Giants as next year's World Series favorites.

Everything seems like it happened so long ago - yet, in reality, it's only been about 7 weeks.  I can still recall so many specific details from the games - Javier Lopez walking off the mound in NLCS Game 3 after another perfect inning, Uribe's walkoff sacrifice fly in Game 4, Uribe's series-clinching homerun in Game 6, Uribe's 3-run shot in Game 1 of the World Series (We're going to really miss your bat, Uribe), Renteria's towering shot that stayed just fare in Game 2, Bumgarner's curveball for a called strike 3 to end the 8th inning of Game 4, Renteria's series-clinching 3 run shot and Dave Fleming's shiver-inducing call in which he loses his voice midway through, and, of course, Brian Wilson's final strikeout of Cruz that sent an entire city into an incomparable frenzy....

These memories will never fade away; they are forever ingrained in my mind (partly because I can't help but rewatch highlights every other day).  Yet, sometimes, it's still so hard to bring myself to believe that it actually happened.  With each passing day, these memories grow more and more unfamiliar.  Their vividity remains untarnished, but their reality continues to diminish.  Did that really happen?  Did Brian Wilson really close out Game 5 of the World Series?  Did we really just just win it all?

It's an indescribable feeling, a heart trying to embrace a joy it had been deprived of for as long as it could remember.  Perhaps it's because this is all so new to me.  It's the first time in my life that everything I wished for, all the unlikely things that I held out my hopes for, actually came true.  It's the first time that I have something to look back on, something to tell my grandkids about in the future, and something to be truly grateful for, even if nothing else goes right.

And perhaps all of this serves as a reminder of how fragile and transient life can be.  Moments come and go in a blink of an eye; it is up to the human heart to choose which moments to hang onto.

2010 was one hell of a ride, but we have to remember - in a few more months, we won't be World Series champions anymore.  It'll be a new season, a new year, a new journey toward glory.  This new season will carry with it another year's worth of amazing feats to celebrate and another year of dreams from baseball fans across the country.  The game will be the same - strikes and balls, outs and hits.  The fans will be the same - millions glued to their television, hoping for a chance to win it all.  The story will be the same - 30 teams, 162 games, and one champion.  It's all part of the beauty of how life works, and how baseball works.  With the fulfillment of one dream comes the birth of another; every championship comes with a chance to repeat as champions.  And I simply can't wait for next season, even if it means we won't be able to call ourselves the World Series Champions anymore.