Scottsdale, Ariz. -- One of the Giants' best moves of the offseason was to secure a nostalgia piece, an authentic time traveler by the name of Hunter Pence. He walks among us as a 21st century man, but everything about him suggests celluloid film, simpler pleasures and the distinctive ring of a dial-up phone.

Even his new contract - for one year - is a throwback. He's not complaining, nor will any fan who appreciates a true original. The Giants offer their fans a veritable circus of ballpark entertainment, and Pence is the zany sideshow, right at home amid the toy giraffes and panda hats, a curiously essential part of the scene.

As the White Sox-Giants exhibition unfolded on a glorious Monday afternoon, Pence was a study unto himself. I can't recall a ballplayer who approaches the game quite like him, but every bit of evidence is a link to the past.

It started before the game, when I stopped by his locker for a quick chat. There was a time when players cherished the notion of being interviewed, for they had no other way to engage the public. Those days are long gone, thanks to ESPN, the Internet and the swirl of social networking, making it increasingly difficult to have a meaningful conversation.

Pence smiled broadly and immediately had a question: "Would you mind if I grabbed a quick cup of coffee?" Then he literally ran off, so I wouldn't wait long, and he apologized when he got back. Afterward, with absolute sincerity, he thanked me for my interest.

As a handful of Giants lined up along the right-field line to warm up their throwing arms, Pence - as always - stood out. This was no Dwight Evans, whose textbook motion was the baseball equivalent of poetry. It wasn't the type of breezy, natural style (and for some reason, I'm thinking Tom O'Malley, the long-ago Giants third baseman) that says "ballplayer." Pence, with his herky-jerky sidearm sling, calls to mind those grainy baseball film clips from the 1930s, in which everything looks just a little bit comical.

Once the game began, all eight of his fellow starters wore pants down to their shoes - or even lower in some cases, actually tucked underneath the heel. Pence showed plenty of old-school sock, all the way up to the knees.

He doesn't much care for all-black bats, or the two-toned maple contraptions that shatter so easily and put lives in danger. He prefers the traditional, sand-colored ash. After a while, you start wondering if Al Kaline or Richie Ashburn could be far behind.

Short practice swings

Watching Pence's routine in the on-deck circle, one's best reaction would go something like, "Hide the kids." He doesn't take a full swing, rather one abruptly cut short as he whips around his neck and upper body. He looks like he's actually trying to pull a muscle. But this is a routine that has preceded some memorable at-bats, including 25 home runs in each of his three full seasons (2008-10) with the Houston Astros.

By the third inning, Pence had an inch-wide hole in the back of his pants, but it wasn't because he stumbled and fell - for no apparent reason - before picking up Jeff Keppinger's single to right. It came from his showy slide into third base in the second inning, when he measured a wicked slider from a left-handed pitcher (Hector Santiago) and tripled over the center fielder's head.

For a man who left a decidedly mixed impression - .219 with 60 strikeouts in 59 games - Pence had an epic 2012 season with the Giants, forever etching his name into franchise lore. Fans strolling the perimeter of AT&T Park were thrilled at the sight of the team's right fielder arriving by scooter from his nearby apartment.

As he delivered a clutch double in Game 7 of the NLCS against the Cardinals, slow-motion replays revealed that his broken bat struck the ball three times along the way. No one in the press box could recall a precedent, but we agreed that if anyone could be responsible for such a thing, it would be Pence.

Stirring speech

The real moment of truth had occurred several days earlier, during the Division Series in Cincinnati. Down 2-0 and facing elimination, the Giants were treated to a fiery, impassioned clubhouse speech by Pence, an act of pure improvisation. Word spread quietly throughout the postgame revelry, making it clear that Pence had stirred his teammates' souls, and I'll never forget joining a couple of other writers to ask how and why it happened.

Pence denied the whole thing. The story was bound to go public, but in that moment, he was embarrassed to take any personal credit. He wanted to talk only about Ryan Vogelsong, Sergio Romo and the other players who made that victory possible. To quote him directly: "I did nothing."

That's my lasting memory of Pence. Perhaps fans will expect more exasperating moments this year - high fastballs missed, low-and-away sliders chased - but they'll be pleasantly surprised. Like the team he plays for, Pence fits perfectly into AT&T Park. He's an able defender, capable of handling right field's many challenges. He's not obsessed with power, preferring to slash line drives to all fields.

More than anything, he attacks the game with a brand of raw intensity that can't be taught - and he has sold everyone in that clubhouse on his worth to the team.

"Without him and his want and will power, I'm not sure we would have done this," said Buster Posey in the offseason, reflecting on Pence's speech and how it became a pregame ritual, transferred to the dugout. "He really rallied us. He was our rock in that Game 3, and he wouldn't let anybody stop believing."

As a new season unfolds and AT&T Park fills to the brim with believers, appreciate the man with the high socks, the crazy practice swing and the polite, gentle nature. Dramatic speeches? Probably not for a while. It's early. In fact, it just might be some other century.


Giants beat: Madison Bumgarner shortens his delivery. B4

