It may be time for Primal Scream therapy.
As a long-suffering San Francisco Giants fan, it's hard to wrap my tiny mind around my Giants being back in the post season.
The last time I watched my team in the post season, it was 2003 and Pudge Rodriguez (then with the Marlins) was counting coup over the body of JT Snow, laid flat across home plate, the last out of the fifth game of the first round.
The year before that, in 2002, I watched my team go to the seventh game of the World Series...and lose.
That's more of a soul searing pain.
So while I'm very happy my lowly Giants have made it to the postseason once more, it's not without some trepidation on my part.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Fool me three times? Welcome to Giants fandom. Here's your orange gear and your Costco pack of Prilosec.
This one is going to burn.
Last night was Game 1 against the Atlanta Braves, our old nemesis. The Giants history with the Braves is deep. Bobby Cox, in his retirement year, still has plenty in the tank and a good bullpen. Even plagued by injuries, the Braves are a team to be taken seriously.
At 6:37pm, The Good Man and I turned on the radio, dug into our positions on the couch, and held on for dear life while Tim Lincecum (nicknamed The Freak) blithely struck out 14 hitters and the Giants won the game 1-0.
Whew. Good. Ok. Got that pent up energy out.
Now. On to Game 2.
May this delicious agony last a very long time.
This post is not only about fandom, it also fulfills a Theme Thursday challenge.