Why I can't start, or stop, reading about the Giants

The Giants won the world series.

I can't stop, or start, reading about it.

What I mean is, the awesomeness of this event is unparalelled. Don't believe me? See this handy chart:

AWESOMENESS LEVELS

You got caught texting naked pictures of yourself to a sideline reporter: 0

You ARE the sideline reporter: -500

You are sitting at home thinking about eating nachos when you remember you have chips, cheese, olives, sour cream AND a live-in servant/chef: 12

You were born in Kenya, raised in a mosque in Syria, and yet you convince a bunch of ignorant whities that you're really a good American christian and they elect you president: 18

You just won the Arkansas lottery: 21

You just won any other lottery: 38 (rim shot)

You're a Giants fan. It's 2010. You're alive: 189,395,056.7

So you'd think I'd be excited when a 36 page orange "Giants Championship Edition" of the SF Chronicle arrived at my house on Sunday morning. I was not. I can't read all that. 36 pages? It's....too......much.

It makes me want to retreat back into myself, where I can hold onto the Giants' World Series Championship in my own little personal Giants world where nobody else intrudes. The Giants are MINE. Go away.

I mean, I can't read another article on ESPN.com about how scrappy we were, or how great the fans are, or how they really cobbled together a bunch of cast-offs, or, the new favorite, how we managed to win despite the idiocy of our general manager. Google Michael Tucker/Brian Sabean and let me know what you find. It's true. Do I want to read about it? No. I want to go lie down and....I don't know...maybe watch the Warriors or something. They're so simple.

I WOULD watch the DVD if it ever came out. Every day I go to the mailbox and yet it never shows up. It will probably show up under our christmas tree next to a Giants tie, a Giants commemorative pooper-scooper, a Giants personal planner and a cd entitled "Andres Torres' favorite gospel sounds."

Tomorrow I will delve into free agency. I will talk about Aubrey Huff and Juan Uribe and Carl Crawford and Jayson Werth and we will have fun talking about the 2011 Giants. Today, I offer the lament of a man who has achieved the ultimate happiness only to find that it has left him overly saturated and feeling slightly tired. The lament of a man who in July would spend 15 hours perusing every major online baseball website in the hopes of finding a single article about the Giants and who now cannot open ESPN.com without reading about Matt Cain's curveball. Yes! I know! It's very effective against lefties! Now go back to talking about the Yankees so I can be mad agai....wait...hold on, what are you doing. Stop that. I don't care if Andy Pettite is coming back. I don't care if Mariano Rivera is now older than the speed of his cutter. Why are you ignoring us! We're world series champs! TALK ABOUT US! Cliff Lee? He's a schmuck! He should go pitch for the Royals! Who cares? Talk about the rally thong!!!

Donations to my medical fund can be sent to my home address.

Here's how I'd like to immortalize the 2010 team. Very simple. A picture of me after Game 6 of the 2002 world series. A picture of me after we won it all. Side by side. Actually in both pictures I'd be holding a pillow and looking like i'm about to get hit in the head with some old lady's walker. But if you look really closely, you can see the difference.

But if I ever get down, I just remember this moment:

"Uribe swings and lifts a fly ball to right, Werth drifting back....back.....to the warning track, TO THE WALL...ADIOS PELOTA!"

Never gets old.

And if I had known how it was all going to end, I would have yelled at Ryan Madson: "Hey Ryan! Commemorate THAT!"

But at the time, I was too busy picking pieces of the pillow out of my mouth.