Major League Baseball
Fans' wolf whistles don't faze Freak
Major League Baseball

Fans' wolf whistles don't faze Freak

Published Oct. 19, 2010 10:15 a.m. ET

Tim Lincecum ducked into the visitors' clubhouse around the fourth inning Saturday night, to take a little breather, when he ran into J.T. Snow, the former Giants first baseman who is here to pitch batting practice, help with infield drills and otherwise assist the coaching staff.

"I can't believe this!" Lincecum said. "They're whistling at me."

The Philly fans were whistling, all right, and there wasn't a note of music involved. They sounded, maybe a thousand strong, like little birdies in a tree. They were chirping at Lincecum because the long hair framing his face, so massively displayed on the scoreboard during his times at bat, looked so ...

"Cute?" said Snow, incredulously. "That's what it meant. He's cute. How are you supposed to take something like that? What's happened to the fans of Philadelphia?"

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That's a hell of a question. Not so long ago, in the dark and dingy Veterans Stadium, Phillies games were a haven for the bitter, the angry and the disturbed. Boos cascaded down upon the opposition, vicious language came forth, and fights routinely broke out in the stands. All things considered, it might have been the nastiest stadium atmosphere in America.

Everyone knew things had changed since the club moved into the newer, more fashionable Citizens Bank Park, but Saturday night marked the dawning of a new age, with sort of an interior decorator's motif. During each of Lincecum's at-bats, fans chirped away like a bunch of construction guys who spotted a pretty girl on the sidewalk.

"Guys whistling at guys, man," said Brian Wilson, feigning an eerie glance. "Not sure I understand what that means. But I know it didn't faze Timmy. Nothing does."

In typical fashion, Lincecum took it in good humor. He'd just picked up a win against Roy Halladay in Game 1 of the National League Championship Series, and he wasn't going to be even the slightest bit unsettled.

"I look good," he said, trying to keep a straight face. "No, I'm kidding. I kind of enjoyed it, actually. Kind of a laugh."

Snow, a firsthand witness to the Philly fans' vitriol for years, was incredulous. "The whole night was like that," he said. "When we came in from batting practice, nobody was booing, giving us a hard time. I mean, this is the place where they booed Santa Claus literally, during a December football game. I think they've gone soft on us."

The way Snow sees it, "The whole atmosphere around this series is like that, like it's just an automatic that the Phils are going to go straight to the World Series. I'm not sure they know what kind of a Giants team they're up against. They have no idea."

Start with a team that picked up Cody Ross on waivers in August, almost as an afterthought, and sees him now as next year's right fielder. Ross was lucky to get a couple of wheelhouse fastballs from Halladay, but he deposited them in the proper place - the second and third homers in the last two games for the man known as a streak hitter.

"I guess he's streaky," said Aubrey Huff. "I haven't seen many bad streaks from him. Great garbage find for us."

The story is pretty well known by now, how the Giants claimed Ross to keep him away from the division-rival San Diego Padres, but in the back of his mind, general manager Brian Sabean probably would like to change the script. Just for laughs, something like, "Ross is a guy we had our eye on from the beginning. I planned on doing just about anything to get him."

The Giants are a team with a leadoff hitter, Andres Torres, who took the field 12 days after an emergency appendectomy. They're a team with a bullpen as deep as the center of Lake Tahoe. They're also a team that routinely removes Pat Burrell, a middle-of-the-lineup hitter having a superb season, for pinch-runner Nate Schierholtz. It seemed that manager Bruce Bochy pulled that trigger a bit too early sixth inning Saturday night - the Giants had just a two-run lead - but Burrell wouldn't have scored from second base on Juan Uribe's single to center. Schierholtz did.

The Giants are a team that, for weeks, has made brilliant calls with Lincecum. Saturday night's game was right on the border between "leave him in" he routinely retired the side in the seventh and "make a change" Javier Lopez began the eighth. Like most every other move of late, it worked out perfectly, Lopez and Wilson closing out the game with a flourish.

As Wilson tried to put his postgame feelings into words, Huff came walking past, and what a vision: sleeveless shirt, shoulders blanketed in bright tattoos, lower right leg massively taped he's been hurting for weeks, and that final, nutty flourish, the bright red thong that has become his behind-the-scenes trademark.

"There's our clubhouse atmosphere," said Wilson. "It just walked by."

Not a whistle was heard.

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