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Never let it be said that my fear of the Baseball Gods' wrath is phobic. Exaggerated perhaps, but certainly not unfounded or illogical. "As a die-hard San Francisco Giant fan with a long memory pockmarked by devastation, I'm trying not to get too excited. But it's getting harder and harder..." I wrote those words to end an article about Brad Penny's resplendent debut against the Philadelphia Phillies. It was the morning of Sept. 3, the Gents were 73-60, and were staring down the barrel of their season with the gleam of a sterling rotation in their eyes. In truth, the center held for a bit—although Penny's gem would be the only victory of the three-gamer in the City of Brotherly Love, the fellas would traipse through Milwaukee and take two of three from the Brewers. Then came the anar ...

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Article written by Andrew Nuschler