You’ve been saying it all week. Calling them misfits and castoffs. Shrugging your shoulders at them, excusing their feat as a fluke. An accident. Waiting for the day these “misfits” go back home … because for the most part, David doesn’t beat Goliath in real life.
Didn’t I tell you? Do not wake a sleeping GIANT.
But nope, you didn’t believe me. You gave me stats about Werth and Howard. You said Timmy should go pick up another blunt. And wait, was that B. Wils on that “Just For Men” commercial? You went on and on about history, what happened in 2002 and how it would repeat itself here.
All the while my Giants were beating the giant Phillies. And not only did David beat Goliath, we did it in his backyard. With a 3-2 cutter, in a silent stadium. Your boy Howard? He didn’t even swing.
You’ll only root for the Giants if they make it to the series? It’s all good. My city and my team still got room for “fans” like you. So please, sprinkle some Tobasco on your words as you eat them and take your seat on the back of this bandwagon.
Because regardless of how small your talk is, my misfits, my team, my heart and my city are still- in one word – GIANT.
LETS. FUCKING. GO!