A lot of sports franchises – actually, only two – like to refer to themselves as “America’s Team,” as though the average American, when asked, would say their life can be defined in terms of the New York Yankees or Dallas Cowboys. Admirable bravado aside, the assertion by either of those two is patently false since most Americans hate everything about New York City while almost no American would equate a winner from Texas as a winner at anything.^*

So what would define “America’s team,” anyway? How American is American or, to put it another way, how much must a team be aligned with a national identity to fully be of that nation? Most Americans don’t beat out 29 other candidates one of every four chances they get, nor do most Americans make three times as much as everyone they work with.

America’s true team would not be in a position to flat-out buy the best of everything, nor would it be stacked with players who signed because of the manager, because most Americans these days are not spending lavishly and certainly wouldn’t line up to take orders from their boss no matter how nice a boss they have. Indeed, the idea of the Yankees being reflective of their country becomes more and more laughable when you realize the America they would reflect hasn’t existed since 1964 (or, arguably, 1929).

No, America’s team would probably be concerned right now about keeping their jobs. They would probably be living in a home they should never have purchased, and a few years ago probably sunk too much money into toys they can now barely afford to hold on to. America’s team spends a lot on sustenance and transportation, even though America’s team would rather spend it paying off their credit card.

America’s team would have to be one that has a generally good track record, although they may have committed a few wrongs they are still scrambling to right, because America’s team generally means well, although sometimes it finds itself a little misguided. America’s team has a postcard view it fought hard to acquire but sometimes struggles mightily to protect. Ditto its legacy and stature. America’s team would also have to be highly misunderstood although in many ways enviable (and often imitated, although its many detractors would never admit it). Their history of successes would most certainly have to be outweighed by their missteps, and the sheer will of its fans would, hopefully, be the key to where America’s team was headed more than the apparent indifference by the people in charge of America’s team.

Ladies and gentlemen, may we present 232 years of United States history as interpreted on the diamond and in the front office starring Peter McGowan as your least favorite president, Barry Zito as Bear Sterns, AT&T Park as a gorgeous home listed under market value, Tim Lincecum as American Idol and Barry Bonds as himself.

The San Francisco Giants may not have much in the way of recent glamour, nor have they done much outside of the Bay area to help the game (or their image). At the same time, they have a highly respectable tradition and one of the most spectacular stadiums in the sport. Their actions may show an arguably unpatriotic operation, but their existence creates, sadly, a franchise to mirror the nation itself. But at least they had the decency to get the hell out of New York.

(*) If you were about to call me a hypocrite because of this column, think again. A&M softball, while awesome, lost to Florida. Then again, if you’re from Texas and lost Florida. . . nevermind.↵