Dear Giants, make Mattingly's skull explode and sweep Dodgers

If Jack Del Rio is on his game, and he damned well better be, he will have hired a Roman slave to sit behind Derek Carr on the plane back from Cleveland, hold a picture of Colin Kaepernick in front of his face and whisper, as slaves did in the distant past, “Sic transit gloria mundi.” As in, “All glory is fleeting.” As in, “Kaepernick used to be the future of quarterbacking, and now he got his pants pulled down to ankle level by the Arizona Cardinals.”

As in, “Don’t think you got this figured out. The target always moves, the audience always wants to hate your living guts, and football is going to bash your brains in anyway.”

After all, what better way to celebrate a weekend in Cleveland than to know that there’s a boot in the groin around every corner.

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Jonathan Papelbon did not destroy the Washington Nationals’ season, honest he didn’t. But some people are just too repellent by definition to ever get the benefit of the benefit of the benefit of the benefit of the doubt.

In other words, he violated the pecking order, and even though he might have not have known what the pecking order in Washington actually was, he will still be held responsible – probably by general manager Mike Rizzo, who is the imbecile who thought Papelbon could help them close out the NL East. Good work, Mikey. You’re your next job doing midnight to eight at Costco is to your liking.

You fathead.

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Only the Dodgers could waste everyone’s time by blowing an entire clinching weekend and then coming to San Francisco daring the Giants to sweep them. It is at this point that I almost wish the Giants did sweep them just to make Don Mattingly’s skull explode, not to mention the added benefit of listening to Vin Scully broadcast a tire fire; “This reminds me of the ’52 Boston Braves, who once . . . “ and then I drift off on the wings of a sound so melodious and a sleep so blissful that women want to lavish me with money and absurd levels of platonic worship and chocolate chip cookies the size of an 18-wheeler’s lift gate.

None of these things will happen, of course. Modern life vomits blood on its membership every single day, and then your back goes out.

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Those of us who know Joey Crawford to be the zenith of sports officiating since the death of Earl Strom take note of Cam Newton’s claim that the NFL’s biceps of justice, Ed Hochuli, told him Sunday after he complained about not getting a late hit call, “You’re not old enough to get that call.”

In such a situation, Joey would say, because he has, and as recently as the last NBA playoffs to Cleveland’s Timofey Mozgov, “Do me a favor and shut up.” And Newton would understand because, damn it, it’s Joey. If you don’t understand why this is a sufficient response, you just came to this planet on Tuesday evening and comprehend nothing.

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And finally, the turf in St. Louis caught fire during the player introductions, delaying the start of the Rams-Steelers showdown that ended 12-6 with the Steelers losing Ben Roethlisberger. After the game, Steelers owner Dan Rooney told his Ram compatriot Stan Kroenke, “I’ll vote for you to leave this town, even if it means going to a place where the sky catches fire every three weeks or so.” And then Kroenke said, “Great. Now who are you, and will I have to sue you later?”