Voices from Home
The clubhouse was really quiet after tonight’s 6-4 loss, but it’s always quiet after a loss. We know it’s just one game in a seven-game series. And we know we’re pretty good at clawing back. But it’s disappointing to lose in front of our fans for the third time in the post-season. We hate to do that because our fans are unbelievable.
We’ll wash this one away and win tomorrow. We know what we can do.
Everyone back home in Venezuela is rooting for the Giants because we have so many Venezuelans on the team. My family’s house is packed every night with relatives and friends to watch the games. The newspapers and sports radio stations are carrying stories because they love baseball back there. It’s been so fun to hear from people I haven’t heard from in a long time. Yesterday I got tweets from two schoolmates. They said they were amazed to see me on television in the playoffs.
My twin brother asked me the other day what it’s like to be a starter in the championship series.
“It’s like a dream,’’ I told him. “I feel like I’m in a dream.’’
My dad told me on the phone that he’s proud of me and he loves me and hopes to see me soon – and to bring a ring! “This is your moment,’’ he said. “You always do well in the biggest games.’’ And that’s true. I don’t know why. I think I’m good at calming myself and not trying to do too much.
My dad and my brother also make helpful suggestions – like not to swing at bad pitches and not to take a called strike three with the game on the line (as I did in the NLDS).
“It’s not as easy as it looks on TV,’’ I tell them. “The pitches move a lot more in the big leagues here than in the Venezuelan league. It’s very different.’’
They say, “Oh, of course! You’re doing great!’’
My mother died six years ago of brain cancer at the age of 47. I keep thinking about how much she would have enjoyed all this. She loved baseball. I think about her every at-bat. I ask her to give me strength to be successful. Every big moment – like my triple in the fourth inning today – I wish my mom could be here to watch me. I wish she could see this ballpark. She would be really happy and proud.
Tonight was just one game. It’s fun just to think about what amazing thing might happen on the field tomorrow or the next day or the next. We never know who’s going to be the spark – one day it’s Buster, the next it’s me or Crawford or Angel or a hitter off the bench. Everybody believes in themselves and in each other.
Keep believing. Thanks for reading!