A Band of Misfits: Tales of the 2010 San Francisco Giants

A Band of Misfits: Tales of the 2010 San Francisco Giants

With a title drought that started in New York and carried on for more than five decades after the move to the west coast, the San Francisco Giants and their fans were growing restless, waiting for a team like the 2010 roster and that one magical postseason run. The anticipation, memories, and celebrated relief of the season when it finally came together are captured in this chronicle of the World Series season of the Giants. Written in entertaining prose, the book is as much an enjoyable story to be reread through the years as it is a factual account of the events that brought the elusive title to the Giants. Andrew Baggarly is the San Francisco Giants beat reporter for Comcast SportsNet Bay Area and has covered the team for the past 10 years. He formerly wrote for the Oakland Tribune and the San Jose Mercury News . He is a member of the Baseball Writers Association of America and a voter for the Baseball Hall of Fame. He lives in Millbrae, California.  A Band of Misfits Tales of the 2010 San Francisco Giants By Andrew Baggarly Triumph Books Copyright © 2015 Andrew Baggarly All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-62937-098-9 Contents Introduction, Foreword by Duane Kuiper, 1. Adios, El Caballo, 2. Hail to the Buster, 3. Found Material, 4. Who's Your Padre?, 5. Putting It Bluntly, 6. A Delicate Matter, 7. Forever Yungo, 8. Too Much Awesome, 9. Home Stretch, 10. A Nickel for Your Thoughts, 11. Held in Check, 12. Southern Discomfort, 13. Bulls and Whistles, 14. A Lot of Happy, 15. All Decks on Hand, 16. High Noon, 17. I'll Say It Now, 18. Fully Healed, 19. Nailed It, CHAPTER 1 Adios, El Caballo The Giants were descending from 35,000 feet, and word began to travel. One player saw the news on his PDA. Another was surfing the Web on his laptop. The Fox Sports report had been linked on MLBtraderumors.com, which passes for wildfire in this information era. Bengie Molina had been traded. Teammates began to approach the proud veteran catcher, stretched out in his own row, listening to music on black, oversized headphones. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, man." "Good luck. It's been an honor playing with you." "Wow, what a shock." The headphones came off, and Molina met the news with stunned silence. The Giants were on the verge of announcing a deal with the Texas Rangers. They were getting a right-handed middle reliever, Chris Ray, along with a minor leaguer — a seemingly small return for a former Gold Glove catcher who had been the heart of his team, a two-time winner of the Willie Mac Award as the most inspirational Giant, and a steady guide during both of Tim Lincecum's Cy Young–winning seasons. Molina would be leaving a flawed, fourth-place team for a surprising Texas club that was leading the AL West. But he was not happy. He was confused, angry, and, most of all, hurt to receive the news from teammates as their charter flight from San Francisco — where the archrival Dodgers had just swept them — descended into Denver. Molina had a hunch he might be traded at some point. He knew it was a matter of time before the Giants would clear his position for bright young catcher Buster Posey. But it was June 30. The non-waiver trade deadline was a month away. "They're getting rid of me now?" he thought. "After all I've done?" This was not the first time the Giants had stung his pride. Two years earlier, on the day the club drafted Posey with the fifth overall pick, general manager Brian Sabean made a reference to Molina's "clock winding down." The longtime GM was referring to the expiration of Molina's contract after the 2009 season, but his language was inelegant. Molina took it as a comment that his skills were eroding. After the 2009 season, when a reporter asked Sabean about re-signing Molina to a one-year contract, the GM said, "That ship has sailed." Molina didn't get the two-year contract he wanted — that he felt he deserved — from the New York Mets or any other team. So it came as a surprise to everyone, the Giants included, when he took slightly less money to return for one more year. On his first day in spring camp, Molina pulled up his black socks in front of his locker and smiled. "I guess that ship sailed back," he said wistfully. The catcher is supposed to be the toughest soul on the diamond — constantly pelted by foul tips, mentally tested by the thousands of decisions he must make every game, and prone to full-frontal collisions by runners flying down the third-base line. Molina handled all those burdens with quiet grace. But inside, he felt wounded. He was sensitive to every passing remark, glum over any perceived slight. He never trusted the baseball establishment, never forgot that scouts passed him over twice in the draft while at Arizona Western College. He returned home to Puerto Rico, and after playing a few games for a local semipro team, he quit the sport he loved with one symbolic act. He kicked off his cleats, knotted the laces together, whipped them