It was impossible to walk away from the TV last night. The game the Giants and Rockies played was not just one for the history books, but one that’s going to stay in our memory banks for a long time.

From a personal point-of-view, as someone who absolutely lives and dies with the Giants, I feel like I ought to be ordering my coffin right now instead of drinking coffee and examining a Diamondbacks lineup set to face Matt Cain tonight.

For as painful as it was to just wear Ryan Spilborghs’ walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the 14th, I still can’t help but feel there is a lot of hope to be had here by the Bay.

But before I address hope, I should probably undress last night’s implosion. Look, it’s not like the previous two games before last nights loss were any easier to swallow, yet after Velez’ two run triple it was really hard to see coming what actually happened. And maybe that’s the toughest part. Sometimes, you can see these things coming, but not last night–not walking a bullpen pitcher to force in a bases loaded run, not using three pitchers to choke out a loss, not continuous over-managing (especially when you’re so used to under-managing).

We faithfully watch these Giants for the same reasons we get into relationships. Bare with me here.

At first you always really like the way they look, and then you find out you have a few things in common–like you both love the sac fly, and really dig “freakish” pitching. Things get better and you start to share more of your feelings, some so good it’s like watching a no-hitter. You’re just her big “panda” bear.

Then things start to go a bit south. Like all chicks, she digs the long ball, and well, one panda does not a zoo make. You want to just put your trust in her, but she wants to constantly make impulse decisions that make you scratch your head. Your major disagreements all begin with Rowand, and end with Howry. Actually, those aren’t disagreements.

The point is, we do this because we know the sun is going to come up tomorrow. We cry, bitch, moan, complain, hate, give-up, deride; then we make our way to AT&T or plant our asses on the couch and even if we watch with just one eye open we still watch in the slight hopes that this might still work, she might still be the one.

A sleepy, under-achieving “Diamond”-backs team opens the first three of six at home, and well, the only “rocks” you’ll both care about, at least for a weekend, will be the “Rockies.” And if things go really well, you’re right back in the running toward walking down that playoff aisle.

And if they don’t, you break up. It’s simple. You throw out all of the things that remind you of her, like her manager and general manager, and jettison ties to her old friends like Edgar and Randy (you know which one you don’t like) and Bengie. You never could stand those guys, anyway.

You spend the winter sulking, but then one night you go out and spend a lot of money–maybe you’re drunk, or maybe the market is just dictating how much you have to spend to get drunk. But you come home with a phone number, and come springtime, that phone number is a part of that “new-old-girl” and you’ll chase her all summer long in the hopes that she’s the one that you finally get that ring with.

Six game homestand. Six wins (maybe even five!). We’re right back in this, not that we’re really too far off of it.