It does not matter how much money the San Francisco Giants took in by providing the hall in the Kanye West-Kim Kardashian proposal party. Comrade Pratt figured the cost at $222,500 and TMZ reported a much tamer $35,000, though there must surely be some form of shame tax the Giants would have tacked onto this gathering.
But even if it was enough money to sign Tim Lincecum and buy Mike Trout, Miguel Cabrera and Clayton Kershaw off the shelf, it does not matter.
And here is why: Ruben Rivera’s run from first to home in 2003, the one in which he missed second base twice and (maybe) third once, the one where he was thrown out at home by 160 feet, the one Jon Miller called the worst base running performance he has ever seen in his 77-year broadcasting career, is now the second lamest thing in the history of the park.
Think about that for a moment. The ballpark, which the Giants have essentially called the thing that kicks the Taj Mahal’s ass, the edifice that spits tobacco juice all over the Louvre, the galactic central point and the only palace capacious to accommodate Bruce Bochy’s prodigious skull – housed the merger announcement between Kanye West and Kim Kardashian.
The brain melts.
There are other places that will provide the bizarro-world details, and other stories that will give you the complicated histories of both West and Kardashian, but this is the only one that will tell you (and I researched this) that PNC Park is now the best place to watch baseball . . . or anything, really . . . specifically because of this.
And this is why. You will never, ever, EVER be able to go to anything at the ballpark without knowing that this thing happened in the very same place you are right now. Ever. It is how part of the history, like the two World Series, and the 756th homer, and Matt Cain’s perfect game, and Ruben Freaking Rivera.
[RELATED: Kim, Kanye get engaged at AT&T Park]
The Giants could organize a chemical fire for charity, or a Robert Mugabe Halloween dress-up party, or have Wild Ravenous Dingo Tuesday nights, but this is the one you’ll remember forever. Forever, I tell you.
Now we’re not going to lecture the Giants on how they have to reduce their debt load on the creaky old dump at Third and King. They surely have a better grasp of their financials than I, largely because I did not take enough economics classes to be able to accurately calculate the value of “a silo full of money.”
But Kanye and Kim have changed the nature of the place simply by forcing to us think of a world in which they will marry. And even if the marriage doesn’t last any longer than her hilarity-fated merger with Kris Humphries, they’ll always have this special night, with a scoreboard, and an orchestra, and damp sod, and the knowledge that they became betrothed on the same ground that offered us Barry Bonds, and Felipe Alou, and Barry Zito, and Ellis Burks, and Brian Sabean, and Buster Posey, and the annual fun runs, and whatever else they hold there when we’re not looking.
Hell, maybe the Bilderbergs gather there, or the Trilateral Commission, or the Insane Clown Posse. We don’t get their full itinerary, and after Monday, I’m frankly afraid to ask.
But if I did get the list, this would still be the one leaps off the page, grab my eyelids, pull down on them and then snap them back in my head so they spin like an old cartoon window shade. Kanye West and Kim Kardashian . . . that’s it. Game, set and match. No more calls, please. You’ve hit the lottery of What The Hell?
And somewhere, sitting in a small room filled with stuff he lifted from Derek Jeter, is Ruben Rivera, and he smiles that “Well, I’m off the hook now” smile. And until a gigantic serpent rises from McCovey Cove and scoops up everyone on the promenade and swallows them during the seventh inning stretch of a Sunday game against the Dodgers, the Giants won’t be able to top it.
If “top” is the word you’re looking for here, and I’m not sure it is.