Ratto: Forget 'Torture, Fear the Beard, the Rally Thong'


Ratto: Forget 'Torture, Fear the Beard, the Rally Thong'


SAN FRANCISCO -- This has nothing to do with the players. It has everything to do with you. So pay attention.

The pom poms are played out. So are the rally rags, Aubrey Huffs thong, the stupid "Fear the Beard," and the word Torture.

Youre superstitious, you believe in the power of marketing to set you free, and we dont want to disabuse you of any notions you might hold near or dear at this point.

But Im telling you, theyre played out. They may have gotten you this far in your mind, but now its time for something else. Something new. Something that hasnt been done before, so that people wont confuse you with nerds, geeks or sheep. You go to such lengths to act like youre cooler than everyone else, and then you do the same stuff in the stands everyone else does? Please. If youre better than all that, prove it.

And were to help you.

First off, torture. This isnt torture, not any more. Being a Phillies fan is torture. Being a Yankee fan is torture. Being a 49er fans is particularly exquisite torture, since your team has just been deported and forced to play the Denver Broncos in front of people who were once our allies. Now how the hell does that enhance our standing in the world community? Whats next, spent nuclear materials hidden inside Easy-Bake Ovens?

What this is, if it has a name, is the blind pig finding the acorn, over and over again. The guy at Fishermans Wharf who pops out from behind bushes and scares the tourists. This is hitting on 18 and pulling nothing but deuces and treys.

There. Theres your battle cry. We Hit On 18. And for those of you know you wont be around children or the faint of heart, you can still have the Lincecum motto, ---- Yeah, Shut Up. Or, if you go for acronyms, FYSU. People will figure it out. And it looks good on a T-shirt.

Besides, it's about the only time they hit.

Next, the thong. Huff has worked that visual as long as he can, and the Brian Wilson references to The Machine, too. Now its time for something else, Wed go with the same theme to honor the players promotional gifts, but you cant show a thong in its natural state on television, and an orange submissives outfit really doesnt work as an effective ensemble, especially in high definition. But a tasteful 175 hoodie that looks like one . . . well, you cant blame a dodgy entrepreneur for trying.

Or how about a simple ski mask -- orange, again, so the cops dont think youre going to hold up a garlic fries stand. Sure, orange isnt much to hang your hat on, but the Giants started this nonsense again in 1947 after going red-white-blue during World War II, so youll just have to with it.

Now youll get grief about any Barry Bonds stuff you wear, and deservedly, but if youre going to go that route, go proudly. A simple T-shirtsweatshirt elegant legend, like Yeah, But The 586 Homers Help Dull The Pain.

And finally, theme music. Tony Bennetts still good when the crowd is filing out, but something to identify this team, these players is still sadly lacking from an otherwise clever and creative music department at the ballpark. We recommend (and highly) Mister Bad Example, by Warren Zevon. Upbeat, kicky, and with inspirational lyrics like these:

Im very well acquainted with the seven deadly sins,

I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in,

Im proud to be a glutton and I dont have time for sloth,

Im greedy and Im angry and I dont care who I cross


Im Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt,

I like to have a good time, and I dont care who gets hurt,

Im Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me,

Ill live to be a hundred and go down in infamy.

Now who wouldnt to take the field to that? Or care about a team who would? It sure as hell beats Sweet Caroline. Hell, they played that one at Guantanamo.

OK, weve done as much as we can for you. Now were going back to baseball, and leave us alone.

A's stripped of little-engine-that-could classification at a bad time


A's stripped of little-engine-that-could classification at a bad time

As rumored over the past two months, Major League Baseball just lowered the Oakland Athletics’ revenue by $34 million, and now all the other developments of the past few weeks have finally become a call to arms by an organization that has always been strident pacifists when it comes to money.

In other words, The Little Engine That Occasionally Could has now been stripped of its little-engine classification, and the conditions that allowed them to play the cute little underdog are gone. No more waiting for more clement economic circumstances, or a more favorable political climate, or for the ever-nebulous “future” which the A’s always dangled before its dwindling fan base.

That was the news of Wednesday. Thursday, reports from ESPN’s Jim Trotter indicated that San Diego Chargers owner Dean Spanos is going to swallow his pride to exercise his option to join Stan Kroenke in Los Angeles, thus reducing Mark Davis’ viable options to Las Vegas and the tender mercies of the NFL, or Oakland and the tender mercies of whoever decides to tackle the problem of a new football-atorium.

In other words, push and shove are now jockeying for position in what is expected to be a crash.

First, the A’s.

With the news that Major League Baseball is going to hack the team’s revenue sharing check by 25, 50, 75 and then 100 percent over the next four years, the margin of error for new front man Dave Kaval to get a stadium built has been reduced to those four years. He is following the dictates of his boss, the persistently hologrammatic John Fisher, who essentially shoved Lew Wolff out the door for preaching San Jose and then caution.

The A’s don’t want to share anything with the Raiders, which rules out a Coliseum site. They have investigated Howard Terminal, which is not without its issues. And there is a new darkhorse site, the land around Laney College which, in a tart bit of irony, is the site of the Raiders’ first Oakland home, Frank Youell Field.

The city and county are in the early stages of a deal to sell the Coliseum land to a group faced by Ronnie Lott and the money-moving Fortress group, and get out of the landlord business entirely. It has pledged somewhere between $190 and $200 million in infrastructure improvements, though in the case of two stadia, the question of whether that amount is split remains to be politicized.

But the real point here is that the Gordian knot that is Oakland’s weird hold on its franchises remains tightly raveled. The Fortress announcement was supposed to be a point of clarity, but the revenue sharing news and now the Chargers-to-L.A. rumors have returned chaos to its usual position at the tip of the food chain.

And chaos makes for hasty decisions, and hasty decisions are often regretted. But hey, what’s life without rich people awash in regrets?

The new developments ratchet up the pressure on the City of Oakland and Alameda County to decide what support – if any – to provide a new A’s stadium, and coincidentally what support – if any – can be provided to the Raiders if they are forced to stay in Oakland by the NFL.

It even ratchets up the pressure on the NFL owners to decide among themselves whether their actual end-game goal – to have the Raiders controlled by someone other than Mark Davis – is better served by allowing him to move his team to Las Vegas or denying him his escape route.

But now for the first time there are time constraints – a few months for Mark Davis, a few years for John Fisher and Dave Kaval. The principles of subsidized Moneyball are now conjoined with the principles of Darwinism, and as the A’s have had innovate-or-die thrust upon them, the Raiders have approached the day of reckoning they’ve been desperately kicking down the road since Al Davis’ death. Plus, the political structures of Oakland and Alameda County will catch the holiest of hells either way, and probably across the board.

But as Paul Weller once wrote, “That’s entertainment.” Find shelter, children. The acrid smell of roasting money is in the wind.

Defying common sense makes another official look inhuman


Defying common sense makes another official look inhuman

Officials are a pet cause of mine, since they are uniquely hired and set up for daily failure as a condition of having the job at all. They are given a supervisory role against a group of mesomorphs running, jumping, colliding and athletick-ing all over the place, only so that they can interpret a rulebook written in Cambodian script in such a way that he or she angers everyone involved, and is supported by none of the people who gave him the rulebook to defend.

But sometimes, despite all this, officials need to be left alone to apply common sense in direct defiance of the dictates of the bloated swine who made the rulebook a tool of the socially ignorant.

And no, I am not talking about Doc Rivers snapping like a stretched bobblehead the other night after Ken Mauer tossed him from the Los Angeles Clippers-Brooklyn Nets game for being geographically inappropriate with fellow official Lauren Holtkamp (he crossed the midcourt line, and curb your dirty minds). Screw him. He had it coming.

No, this is about Frank Schneider, who refereed the otherwise unremarkable Paris Saint Germain-Angers match in Ligue 1, the top division of French soccer, and felt compelled to yellow-card PSG goalscorer Edinson Cavani for doing this.

For you link-averse weenies, Cavani scored a goal and then took off his shirt to reveal an undershirt that read “ACE FUERZA” in support of the Brazilian soccer team Chapecoense, the team involved in the plane wreck that killed 77 of 81 passengers, including all but a few of the team’s players and staff en route to the championship match of the Copa Sudamericana in Colombia against Atletico Nacional.

It was a thoughtful gesture, one we want our athletes to produce to show that they are not just mercenaries with expensively shod feet. It was a credit to Cavani, who is Uruguayan and who knew none of the players involved. He did it to be a human being.

And Schneider knew that. But the rules say he had to give Cavani a yellow card for removing his shirt as an act of celebration or in this case, sympathy, and if Schneider had ignored it, his supervisors would have punished him knowing full well that ignoring it was exactly the correct and decent thing to do.

This right here is one more reason why people hate officials, even more than they used to. They are not allowed to apply their own common sense to a situation that demands it, and if honoring fellow athletes who died in an accident doesn’t demand the common sense of saying, “Heartwarming thought there, Scooter. You’re a good lad. Run and frolic with the other woodland creatures, unconcerned with any notion of punitive action.”

Maybe Schneider walked up to him as he presented the card and said, “Listen, this is crap. You know it and I know it, and I will back your play in the game report, but I have to do this. Please find it in your heart to forgive my bureaucratic obligations.”

That’s not the zenith of understanding as we would wish it, but it would be a way to try and shield Cavani from the withered arm of the law.

Or maybe Schneider said, “I give this card to you in my role as a strident and iron-willed defender of mindless regulations. I spurn you as I would spurn a rabid wolf.”

I don’t know. All I know is, Schneider ends up looking stupid for carding Cavani for supporting his soccer-playing brethren, and officials across the globe cry out as one, “You put him in a ridiculous position, you suit-wearing filth. Where is your compassion? Where is your dignity? Why can’t we line up in an orderly fashion and kick you squarely in the groin 30 to 70 times?”

And a decent human instinct is stamped out as though it were caught stealing office supplies.

You can extend this lesson as far as you wish, including the No Fun League’s old-white-guys fetishistic ban on post-touchdown self-expression, but right here is where that sort of mockable nonsense starts. People died, some of them soccer players. A fellow soccer player honored them on the field of play without disrupting the game itself. He was sanctioned. This is idiocy.

But Doc Rivers getting flipped in Brooklyn? Sorry. There’s only so far we can go with this, and in this case, well, to quote the old philosopher, “Nice tantrum, Glenn.”