© Stan Szeto-USA TODAY Sports
Yes, of course, Bruce Bochy won three championships, and brought Giants fans in San Francisco their first-ever World Series, and all that makes him immortal in franchise annals.
There’s something different, though, in the ongoing love and nostalgia surrounding Bochy’s retirement. It has to do with the guy himself.
Bill Walsh won three championships for the 49ers, the first coach in Bay Area pro sports history to do so. Walsh is an all-time icon. Hell, he’s known even after his death as “The Genius.” But the reverence for Walsh is more awe than affection.
Steve Kerr won three championships for the Warriors, joining Walsh and Bochy as the only Bay Area coach to do so. And there is plenty of respect and great vibes for Kerr, but it is also a very current and fluid thing; the arc of Kerr’s career has yet to be written.
And then there’s Bochy. Or “Boch”, as even the fans call him. His widespread nickname is evidence of the endearment many feel for the man. That’s quite a feat, given that he is about to finish his third consecutive losing season, and has only won one playoff game in the last five years.
But Bochy earned the deep well of good tidings.
There are layers to the affection. 2010, 2012 and 2014 remain masterpieces, each year a Rembrandt or a Van Gogh. In 2010, he and Brian Sabean cobbled together “misfits”, and Bochy used his ‘Core Four’ like a symphony conductor. In 2012, he stayed steady amid playoff deficits, let Hunter Pence turn into a Reverend, moved Tim Lincecum to the bullpen and turned Pablo Sandoval loose on the Tigers. And in 2014, he eschewed any and all analytics and morphed Madison Bumgarner into a folk hero.
That part is easy to love.
The deeper connection comes from Giants fans understanding that management did not hand Bochy a square deal in the past half-decade; that long-term contacts to players who did not perform tied Bochy’s hands. Fans know what Bochy can do when given a chance. He wasn’t given a chance in 2017-18-19, and the sophistication of the fan base was such that no one ever turned on Bochy. They understood.
And an even deeper connection comes from the nature of baseball. It’s a daily game. Giants fans see and react to Bruce Bochy 162 times a year, every year for the last 13 years. That’s a lot of pitching moves to second guess; a lot of lineups to judge. That’s a lot of times the camera cuts to him on his corner perch, chewing his gum, wearing his black ‘San Francisco’ jacket on night games, his tinted Maui Jims on day games.
If a guy doesn’t have charisma, or presence, or just the right touch of humor and red-assery, he could wear on a fan base. But Bochy was gifted all of those. There’s no teaching it. He simply has it. His every interaction with reporters, with fans on the street, with players in the dugout, was always an honest one. There was never anything phony about Bruce Bochy. And when you see a guy skipper your baseball team for almost the entire length of a child’s schooling, K thru 12, you can sniff those things out. With Bochy, nothing felt wrong, or off.
The basso profundo voice. The dry wit. The knock-kneed walk to the mound. The loyalty to coaches. The patience with players, understanding that baseball is hard. These are Bochy’s gifts. He was born to do this.
That he took all those qualities and still had the love of Giants fans during three miserable seasons makes him human and empathetic.
That he took all those qualities and used them to forge three unforgettable Octobers makes him a legend.
You don’t get guys like Bruce Bochy in your sports life. Maybe once, if you’re lucky.
So long, Boch. May the road rise up to meet you.
