On the verge of the incredible

Well, here we are. We’re on the verge.

We’re on the verge of something incredible—something inconceivable and crazy and something that I thought I might never see in my lifetime.

We’re on the verge of a second World Series victory in three years.

It’s completely surreal. Just unbelievable.

I still can’t fathom what’s going on and how this all happened, but it’s happening, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

There have been times in my relatively young life when I was almost resigned to the fact that we may never win a World Series. I just figured that since it didn’t happen with Bonds and Kent, that it just wasn’t possible-- as if we were forced to put on a brave face go to the prom alone every year like the Cubs. Or that we’d go to the dance with our cousin and lose in the playoffs every year like the Braves.

Regardless, I still loved my team and stuck with them the whole time—still watching every game I possibly could and listening to most of the rest. Even the most pointless of games like interleague trips to the SkyDome or playing a lousy Astros team in early August had my attention.

That’s what makes all of this so goddamned rewarding.

I’m 27 years old and was raised as a Giants fan from birth. I knew some lean times, but most of my life, I at least had Barry Bonds. I loved Will Clark and Matt Williams and Rod Beck. Sure the gameday experience is nothing like it is now, and they didn’t win all that much in the grand scheme of things, but the lean times I know are nothing compared to stuff before my time.

There were Crazy Crabs and empty seats, horrendous polyester uniforms, threats of moves and dismal prospects. Meanwhile the A’s thrived across the bay, winning titles, packing the Coliseum, and growing epic mustaches.

Those lean times are what make this fanbase so thankful and so fired up about this seemingly impending second World Series title.

Since this team moved to San Francisco, and from 1955-2009, everyone that lived and died with this franchise was disappointed. That’s pretty much my dad and his friends’ entire lives (born in ’56).

Sure they knew incredible players that I never got to see play like Mays, McCovey and the gang, but that is a REALLY long time to wait for this ultimate success.

People like me obviously love what’s happening and are thoroughly enjoying this with all of our being. But it’s the people who endured the 55 years of real torture that really appreciate this. I am truly happy for these people-- who have stuck with it through thick and thin and been rewarded for their dedication.

For the “new” fans that just want to fit in and wear the Orange & Black (and there are a lot of them), you can be happy, and you can celebrate, but you will never know what true baseball happiness is. Your parents failed to instill in you the gift of Giants fanhood, and that isn’t necessarily your fault. You are welcome to enjoy these good times with the rest of us, but just know that for most of us, this is more than just a potential parade or street party; more than dance along to Gangnam Style, sing along to Journey’s “Lights” or a new champions T-Shirt.

Just like with anything in life, to truly appreciate the highs of success, you must experience the despair of failure.

All I’m saying is let’s see where all these people with the new hats are if we experience another 55 year drought.

But for everyone else, we’re one game away from the ultimate achievement, and I was way too excited to sleep last night, so I had to take a pill. As I said before, we’re on the verge of the unthinkable, and I still can’t believe it.

Revel in the moment Giants fans, because you never know if you’ll experience this ever again.

Go Giants!