This team, this magical team, was never about the Giants' franchise. People seemed to miss that point. Again and again, you would hear about how the Giants had not won a World Series since 1954 -- since 1954, since 1954, since 1954 -- since Willie Mays turned and ran back on Vic Wertz's fly ball, since Dusty Rhodes crushed every pitch he saw, since Hank Thompson squeezed that last foul pop and gave those New York fans living their lives between Brooklyn and the Bronx their greatest thrill.
No. This Giants team wasn't about 1954. Who cared about '54? This team wasn't about Leo Durocher or Bobby Thomson or Carl Hubbell or Mugsy McGraw or Christy Mathewson or any of that ancient Giants baseball history. This team wasn't about another time or another place.
No. This team was about San Francisco. And San Francisco had NEVER won the World Series.
Well, the San Francisco Giants won their first World Series on Monday. They beat the Texas Rangers 3-1 to take the Series four games to one. They won it the way they won throughout the postseason, with remarkable pitching and with an unlikely hitting hero. They won it with a lineup that, just a few months ago, would have looked like something you might see for a spring training game. They won it with their town, San Francisco -- that strange, literary, edgy place that the great sportswriter Jim Murray called a "no-host cocktail party" -- seeing baseball like they never had before.