Time to Say Goodnight: Padres Fail to Save Last Dance for Giants

Baseball’s version of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the Padres and San Francisco Giants, had been dancing in step so nicely.

One would win, and the other would win. One would lose, and the other would lose. It had gone on like that day after day since the two partners left the dance floor after that Sunday afternoon in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. They were never very close, but oh, were they in step.

Until Tuesday night.

They fell out of step, and they got closer together.

The Padres won, and the Giants lost. They were not exactly snug, not with four games separating them in the National League West, but they were close enough to get the Padres breathing a little bit harder . . . and the Giants listening.

While the Padres’ fans sat in the stands (when they were not creating at least a ripple of a wave) watching the Giants lose on the scoreboard television, the players themselves either dressed quietly and slipped away or listened quietly. The final out in Dodger Stadium brought a yelp or two but nothing more.

There was still business at hand.

“We can’t be watching what’s happening on the scoreboard,” said limping, gimping Jack Clark. “We have to take care of our business and win our game. We’re better off than we were yesterday . . . “

But maybe not as well off as they might be tomorrow.

Wednesday.

This was the last day the Padres would have only partial control over their fate. This was the last day taking care of their business would not take care of the Giants as well. This was the last day they would have to both win and hope. They needed a victory over Cincinnati and their beloved chums, the Dodgers, would have to take care of the Giants.

And so it was, at 7:06 p.m. Wednesday, that a crowd of 17,136 settled in for what would be a long evening of watching one game on the field and watching for reports from another game on the scoreboard. Never in the history of the Padre franchise had two such important games been played simultaneously.

The reality that the game on the field was not all the mattered was reinforced by that haunting reminder on the scoreboard:

50 SF

49 LA 7:35

That would be the Giants’ Scott Garrelts against the Dodgers’ Tim Belcher, a duel to be played out silently on the scoreboard while the Padres’ Bruce Hurst went after Cincinnati’s Ron Robinson on the field.

The table having been set, it was a while before anything tasty arrived. The crowd got its first chance to cheer what it came to cheer when the scoreboard posted a first-inning run . . . by the Dodgers. (Actually, it cheered when the Giants didn’t score in the top of the first.

Meanwhile, the Reds were not acting as if they were going to play straight men to a Padre laugher. Robinson matched Hurst zero for zero into the sixth, much to the encouragement of the Giants watching the Dodger Stadium scoreboard.

When the Reds scored in the top of the sixth, what was happening in Los Angeles became a bit less consequential. As Clark had said, the Padres had their end of this business to handle.

Suddenly, this one evening was starting to seem like a microcosm of the entire season.

Does a very slow start in the face of high expectations sound familiar? Does hanging in there by their toenails trying to stay close sound familiar? Does hoping the Giants lose sound familiar?

Struggling to get a runner as far as second until the eighth inning against first Robinson and then Rob Dibble certainly qualifies as a slow start.

Getting out of bases loaded jams in the Cincinnati seventh and eighth certainly qualifies as hanging on by their toenails.

And, of course, the seemingly eternal hope that the Giants would lose was not going to go away.

However, this game was about to build in intensity. The Padres scraped and scrapped and tied the game in the bottom of the ninth on an infield out by Chris James.

With the bases loaded and two out and Benito Santiago batting, the scoreboard flashed the news that the Giants had indeed lost. Hollywood would have written an ending with a hit by Santiago at that precise moment, but this wasn’t Hollywood. Santiago struck out.

Alas, there was still work to be done.

Through 13 excruciating innings it went before the Reds were the ones who got it done . . . for the Giants. The Padres had come up short in this microcosm of the season.

Yes, Fred and Ginger again danced in step, Yes, the Padres and Giants had both lost.

But now the music had stopped.