Position Player

Dear San Francisco Giants,

            I know what you’re thinking.  You’re sitting there thinking you’ve got all the bases covered, if you’ll pardon the phrase.  You’ve got a five-star rotation if everyone either stays who they were last year or, in the case of Tim Lincecum, returns to who they were every year but last year.  You’ve got a first baseman on the cusp of breaking out as a solid 280-290 hitter who’ll bring in 20 homers and make opposing pitchers regret ignoring the bottom of the order.  You’ve got a third baseman who hits better when he loses weight and then hits unbelievably better when he gains wait after his second hand surgery, and someday will hit a homerun off a pitch bounced in front of the plate.  You’ve got a second baseman who is sitting on a 20 game hitting streak as a new season looms and seemed impossible to get out in the playoffs.   You’ve got a shortstop that got this quote, “I'm prepared to say with confidence that Brandon Crawford is the best defensive shortstop in baseball,” from believe it or not, a dodger; A.J. Ellis.  You’ve got four exciting outfield choices all with World Series experience, a solid bullpen with more options than a Hyundai Sonata hybrid, experienced coaching, and the greatest ballpark in the game. You’ve got Buster Fucking Posey. Which is all great, but you need one more thing.

            It’s not chemistry and it’s not luck.  Winning brings both of those.  It’s not je ne sais quoi (which is French for I don’t know what) because I do know what.  The Giants need a team mom.  Not only do I know what position you need to add to the twice-winning World Series team but I know who should be first to occupy that position; my sister Donna McClosky.

            Donna is the greatest Giants fan between Eureka and San Luis Obispo.  She has been to more games, both at AT&T and Candlestick, than I’ve had hot meals.  She has a foul ball off a John Montefusco pitch that magically evaded outstretched hands and wide open mitts to land in her lap.  She has properly raised her children to follow the book of Giants and even converted one from the cult of dodgerdom.  Her credentials are beyond question, beyond reproach, and beyond Thunderdome.

            As the official team mom of the San Francisco Giants she would sit in the dugout and console players who flub a grounder, strike out, or give up hits. She would both relay signs to base runners and steal signs from opposing coaches and catchers.  If an opposing player, say for instance a hated dodger, takes out Marco Scutaro with a cleats-high slide into second to break up a double play, the team mother can grab a handy grounds keeper’s rake and chase the offending player off the field and halfway back to Echo Park.  A long standing family tradition. 

When the Giants win their third World Series in four years after adding this valued position to their team, every other club will scramble to do the same.  There will be some misfires sure; when the Yankees, thinking she is a beloved New York icon, add Yoko Ono only to have to fire her by the All Star Game when she insists switching the players caps to jaunty berets, or when the Reds hire Marge Schott only to realize she’s been dead since 2004.  But that will all be straighten out and sometime after the 2020 season they will start giving out an award for best team mom.

Baseball is big on naming things after players; Cy Young Award, Tommy John surgery, The Mendoza Line.  The award for the best team mom, which I’m sure will be as important to the sport as each league’s MVP, will be called the Donna-Momma-Verdict and given out on the following season’s Mother’s Day.  The first 5 DMVs will go to my sister and she will be the first team mom voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.  Tommy Lasorda’s plaque will be moved to indefinite storage in a janitor’s closet to make room for her’s.