I’m at the ballpark right now, where as my friend Mike Shapiro just put it, it’s a Super Bowl feeling: The commercials are better than the game.
In this case, the Giants on the field are playing the pathetic baseball that has them in last place, but between innings, the fans are treated to highlight after highlight of Barry Bonds’ wondrous 15 years in San Francisco.
The tributes and adulation are an example of the Giants doing everything right, but why then does it feel so wrong? It’s because of the complicated love-hate relationship between San Francisco and Barry Bonds. The Giants feel it too.
On the one hand: The Giants hand out cards for fans to wave saying “Thanks Barry,” with his picture and his highlights, and they celebrate him like royalty between innings.
On the other hand: The Giants are saying, in effect, thanks – and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. You were great, but when you’re only in it for yourself, don’t expect us to knock ourselves out when your mortality proves you to be just another ballplayer.
It was like if you managed a store, and you fired your best employee, then asked him to stick around because you wanted to throw him a party.