The phantom push

In the top of the 7th, Royals first baseman Vinnie Pasquantino pulled a fastball from Landen Roupp into the right field corner. Jung Hoo Lee got to the baseball quickly and fired an accurate throw into Willy Adames at second base as a hard-charging Pasquantino slid into the bag, beating the throw by plenty. But the momentum generated hustling to second made for an uneasy stop. Pasquantino struggled to brake, his upper half kept moving forward as his limbs strained to remain safely in contact with the base. During the awkward stumble, Adames applied a tag at what looks like the brief moment when one could see daylight between Pasquantino’s finger and second base.

Umpire Mike Estabrook ruled Pasquantino safe on the field, and Adames adamantly gestured towards the bench to take a closer look and challenge it. 

As players, coaches, and fans prepared for what looked to be an exhaustive, frame-by-frame review, the weight of the moment settled over the crowd. This was a pivotal play given the game’s context: an old-fashioned, back-and-forth, pitcher’s duel between Roupp and Kansas City starter Seth Lugo. The Giants offense had just extended their lead to three-runs by capitalizing on lead-off walk and a 2-out extra base knocks by Lee and Adames. Those knocks were just their second and third earned off Lugo in the start, and the first since Rafael Devers’s lead-off double in the 2nd. Kansas City’s veteran right-hander had faced the minimum through 5 complete innings, and as he walked off the mound after another soft groundout, Dave Flemming, in all seriousness, remarked that Lugo was “just mowing them down.” Ironic considering Lugo’s four-seam fastball averages less than 92 MPH, and his 9-pitch mix boasts a 76 MPH curveball, already 5 clicks slower than the league average, and an even slower “slow curveball” that moseys across the plate on its own time. But hitting is timing, and pitching is disrupting that timing — Lugo had effectively done this by throwing the kitchen sink, toaster, blender, microwave at San Francisco hitters. 

The 3-0 lead, like most things this year, was hard-earned and impossibly delicate, and Pasquantino’s double had it on the brink of shattering. Roupp had similarly cruised along with Lugo through the prior six frames. That double was just the Royals’ third hit and their first for extra bases. Just as things were supposed to get comfortable, a threat emerged from nothing. The heat of recent failures caused them to sweat. Necks were still sore from the whiplash of Logan Webb’s blown-gem against Seattle on Saturday — a loss that launched San Francisco’s embarrassing road trip. Four consecutive games in which a lead was forfeited. Four games in which the offense stalled out at three runs. Four straight losses – this ignoble streak’s beginnings traced easily back to Saturday’s 7th inning. 

Wednesday’s 7th had to be different. Roupp was the last Giant starter to earn a win, and he looked just as he good as he did last Friday against the Mariners. Surely he’d lead the team to a much-needed victory — and Pasquantino’s base running gaffe appeared to be proof that God’s light shines brightest on the right-hander… 

But that perceived gift didn’t just get taken away from the Giants, it blew up in their faces when umpire Estabrook ruled that Adames had pushed Pasquantino off the base.

A bold claim, which, of course, was unreviewable. 

The call’s initial ludicrousness — which was robust at the time — has grown with each passing hour. Considering that he had beat the throw by plenty, Pasquantino being off balance was exactly what prompted Adames to tag him in the first place. Therefore, the tag could not have pushed Pasquantino off the base. Also, Pasquantino is 6’3’’ and 245 pounds, tagging him would be like tagging a redwood if he had been legitimately rooted.

It’s not like Estabrook is out of position to make a reasonable call here. Unless he was in the middle of a prolonged blink or those sunglass lenses are actually painted black, he sees the play happen. So what gives???

The most damning element here is the fact that Estabrook makes no gesture to signify that Adames unfairly pushed the runner immediately after the play. He and Adames even exchange some pleasantries in the aftermath. The challenge is assumed, and it is not until the crew chief is already walking over to the middle of the field with his ear piece in his hand that Estabrook drops the bomb.  

The tag-turned-shove is a fabrication, cooked up in the moments between the tag and when Tony Vitello gestures to challenge. It’s clear that the umpire himself isn’t quite sure what he was thinking. On the Royals broadcast — which has better coverage of the incident than NBC Bay Area — the umpire fidgets as Adames pleads his case. Estabrook can’t really look at him straight. He weirdly keeps touching his face, wiping his mouth with his shirt as if his lips suddenly started to sweat uncontrollably. 

Whether Adames’s tag stayed on Pasquantino when he came off the base is besides the point. Nothing definitive could be reached due to their inability to have it be reviewed, and right when the team were at their most vulnerable, Estabrook’s phantom push call caught them in the gut and keeled them over. 

The collapse — that was absolutely definitive. The second pitch thrown after the lengthy pause (in which Tony Vitello was ejected) was launched over the wall by Salvador Perez.  Roupp, who likes to work fast, and established a breezy cadence with Lugo through the first six innings, had lost his rhythm. The delay, the obstructed justice had him steaming. He was hot and bothered and cursin’ like a sailor as acting manager Jayce Tingler pulled him from the game. 

The 7th had become a delicate and fraught situation. Tensions were high, players felt picked on — but there was still a lead to protect and a ballgame to win. Tasked with safely navigating and preserving the slim one-run lead, San Francisco’s relief corps took the field like bulls in a china shop.

Sam Hentges came off the mound to field a bunt and threw a pond-skipper past Devers into right field. He had tossed one-pitch, which was bunted, and somehow the tying run had found its way to scoring position. Hentges recorded just one out while giving up two singles compounded by his error before he was replaced by Keaton Winn, who served up this right-down-the-gosh-dang-middle-of-the-plate pitch 

which knocked in the tying run; and this pitch

which subsequently scored Kansas City’s winning run.   

By the time the 7th concluded, the Royals line-up had batted around, scoring five runs against three different Giants arms. 

That did it. A 5-4 loss. Different day, different details — same ending.

Casey Schmitt’s solo homer with two outs in the 9th unclogged the offense, forever blocked at three runs, but his 20th shot of the year didn’t change much else. The Royals are last in the American League Central, and they left the Giants grasping at their coattails. The sweep, all one-run losses, was San Francisco’s sixth of the season. They are now 18 games below .500.  

The phantom push in the 7th was the shove that sent this team over the edge and into an uncontrollable free fall — yet even that comparison is off considering we don’t get to experience the blissful sensation of weightlessness, that sense of pure “freedom” implied by the name. The failures on this display in this loss, and the recurring failures of this team, feel more like the “endless fall” sequence in the excellently stupid 2007 movie “Hot Rod,” in which Rod, in the process of angrily dancing away his suffocating feelings of inadequacy in the middle of a forest  (to the song “Never” off the “Footloose” soundtrack), trips over a tree trunk and begins to tumble down a hill — a tumble that lasts longer than a full minute of runtime, with the idea that the longer Rod improbably rag-dolls down this frictionless slope, the more grunts and groans he makes as he roughly collides with more and more objects, the stupider, and “funnier,” the gag becomes.

This Giants season is already stupid — so when does it become funny?