Ratto: Cain Shuts Down Phils' Mutiny


Ratto: Cain Shuts Down Phils' Mutiny


SAN FRANCISCO -- Buster Posey is young for a catcher, and careful about what he says. So when he grows quiet in response to a question, youre never sure whether hes trying to say the right thing, or the truthful one.

So when he was asked which Giants starter at his best is the easiest to catch, he paused, stroked his chin (well, sort of) and said, Probably (Matt) Cain.

And why? Because of what you saw Tuesday.

Just his command, the Giant rookie said. Jonny (Sanchez) and Timmy (do you have to ask?), their stuff is so electric. Timmys fastball moves all over the place, and Jonny has so much deception. But Matt? Just the command thing again. All four pitches. Thats it.

So to summarize the Giants 3-0 win over Philadelphia in Game 3 of the National League Championship Series, Cain simply commanded the Phillies to death. All four pitches. All four corners. Not so much surgically as cold-bloodedly. Morticians have more expressions, but few pitchers have more ways to make an at-bat end.

Cain allowed the Phillies seven baserunners in seven innings, three as far as second base. Only five saw a 2-0 pitch, and only one, Ryan Howard in the second, made you wonder if a Giant defender could track down the ball.

He was Matt Cain in his totality.

When he needed a fastball to run up and in to make a statement, it went up and in. When he needed a changeup to go away, it landed there. Of his 21 outs, 11 came on fastballs, six on changeups, two on curve balls and two more on sliders.

But while Cain has no beard to fear, or rodeo stories, or really anything that suggests a wacky secret life, thus precluding a killer quote that sums up his day, his year or his life, maybe the quote that works best is Philadelphia manager Charlie Manuels:

You know, when the game starts, thats when youre supposed to hit, he said. Now if you dont hit, thats kind of . . . youre kind of on your own when you leave a dugout.

He was speaking specifically of Chase Utley, the second baseman who took a quiet 0-for-4, but there wasnt a lot that separated Utley from his eight teammates. Cain threw 119 pitches, 17 per inning, but never looked like danger truly loomed. A few questioners asked Posey to break down the Shane Victorino at-bat in the seventh, with Carlos Ruiz at second and Ross Gload at first, but Posey could only shrug and say, It was a fastball.

Yes, it certainly was, one which he bounced harmlessly to second baseman Freddy Sanchez. It was one the 17 outs he kept within the confines of the infield, one more reason why he made the Phillies looks so thoroughly inert. They drove one ball, Howards in the second.

Given that, Cain needs no beard, no rally rag, no deep inspirational speech to get him to his happy place. Even when Bruce Bochy went to check on him in the seventh, he asked Cain if he was all right to keep going.

He was just asking how I was feeling, just kind of instilling that he had confidence in me, Cain said. It didnt sound like he wanted to take me out of the game, but he was trying to -- Weve got confidence in you, make your pitches and we can get this guy out.

Resisting the temptation to say, Who is this we of whom you speak? Cain nodded and said, Yes. And five pitches later, he and the Giants were home and dry. This postseason just gets easier and easier -- yeah, right.

Theres a lot more pressure on you, he admitted afterward, but you find your ways to think of little things, whatever it is to be able to think of it as another pitch or another starting day, just go out there and stay to your plan and stay to your strengths.

The Giants arent home and dry, of course, because Wednesday is another kettle of meat entirely. As Comrade Urban will tell you elsewhere on this, your favorite wed site, Joe Blanton is a more difficult equation than he seems on this stage, and Madison Bumgarner is still burdened not so much by youth but by small sample size.

But if this helps at all for Giant fans who dont want to miss a moments torture (you sick weasels), Matt Cain will be back in case theres a Game 7. Expressionless stares, reptile blood, all the pitches a fellow could need in all the places a fellow could need them.

Im a guy whos usually going to throw a lot of fastballs, he said, but I think the biggest thing today was really making sure the location was better than the previous times (he faced the Phillies, without success). I think the main goal today was to go out there and try to keep the ball closer to the knees and stay at the bottom of the strike zone.

And as an added bonus, to make it easier for Buster Posey. It isnt Job One, but it makes Job One a better days work.

Ray Ratto is a columnist for Comcast SportsNet Bay Area.

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

You thought you were done worrying about the Raiders. You thought the votes were in, the moving vans booked for three years down the road, and all gnashing and sharpening of teeth was over. You thought you were free.

Then those buttinsky-come-latelies from St. Louis decided to rear their litigious heads, and now you find yourselves slipping back into that desperate-hope world from which no one escapes.

It seems the city and its regional sports authority has decided to sue the National Football League and its 32 semi-independent duchies over the relocation of the Rams 15 months ago because, and you’ll like this one, the league allegedly did not follow its own relocation rules when it moved the team.

As you know, there is no such thing as a rule if everyone governed by the rule decided unanimously to ignore the rule. This doctrine falls under the general heading of, “We’re billionaires, try and stop us.”

But all lawsuits have a common denominator, and that is that there is money at the end of the rainbow. St. Louis is claiming it is going to miss out on approximately $100 million in net proceeds (read: cash) and has decided that the NFL and especially their good pal Stan Kroenke is going to have to pay for permission to do what they have already done -- specifically, leave.

Because the suit was filed in St. Louis, the benefits of home field advantage apply, and the league is likely to have to reinflate their lawyers for some exciting new billable hours.

As to whether it turns into a windfall for the jilted Missourians, well, as someone who has known lawyers, I would list them as prohibitive underdogs. But there is nuisance value here, which brings us to Oakland.

The city and county, as we know, did not put its best shoe forward in trying to lure the Raiders into staying or the other 31 owners into rejecting the team’s pleas for geographical relief. By that, we mean that the city and county did not fall all over itself to meet the league’s typically extortionate demands.

But they did play angry enough to start snipping about the 2019 part of the Raiders’ 3-More-Coliseum-Years plan, and they are threatening to sue over about $80K in unpaid parking fees, so filing their own breach-of-rules lawsuit might be a possibility.

Because, hey, what’s the point of sounding like a nuisance if you can’t actually become one?

By now, it is clear that everyone in SuitWorld got what it needed out of the Raiders’ move. The city and county could concentrate on guiding the A’s into activity on their own new stadium. The team could go where Mark Davis has been agitating for it to go for at least three years – somewhere else. The state of Nevada could find a place for that $750 million that was burning a hole in its casino vault. And the league went to a market that it, at first reluctantly and then enthusiastically, decided should be its own.

The fans? Oh, please. Who cares about them? To the NFL, and to all corporations in all walks of business, folks are just walking wallets.

But for some cash? Well, climb on board, suckers. The gravy train is pulling out on Track 3.

Nobody is fool enough to think the Raiders would be forced to return. Hell, even St. Louis isn’t asking for the Rams back. They just want to get paid for the money they probably banked on in the good old days before Stan Kroenke decided to head west.

And that would doubtless be Oakland’s stance as well if. Now the circumstances are slightly different, in that St. Louis worked harder to keep the Rams than Oakland did to keep the Raiders. St. Louis scared up $350 million toward new digs for the Rams, well short of what Kroenke would have accepted, while Oakland said it could get its hands on some infrastructure money and no more.

But Mayor Libby Schaaf complained in her relocation post mortem that the league didn’t follow its own guidelines (yay correlation as causation!), maybe with an eye toward throwing a few lawyers into the fire to see how long it would burn.

There is not yet any indication that the city and county are going that route (and the silence may simply mean that they are sick of the Raiders’ saga as everyone else seems to be), but if they do, well, don’t freak out that the team might be forced to return.

Except, of course, in that place where migraines start. Dragging this back up is a bit like the phantom pain amputees feel -- but hey, people will do a lot for a bit of court-ordered cash. Anyone who has ever watched Judge Judy will understand.

A sports-related pie-fixing scandal? Hell never felt so fun


A sports-related pie-fixing scandal? Hell never felt so fun

I’m liking this 2017 so far. Then again, after 2016, nearly any year would be an improvement.

Just this last weekend we got a flat-earth scandal that turned into a mock-up about media self-importance and fake news (yay Kyrie Irving and his impish sense of satire!).

We got the overblown Russell-Hates-Kevin narrative, and the faux Russell-Secretly-Loves-Kevin counternarrative, all because we are stunningly attracted to meaningless and utterly contrived drama (yay our ability to B.S. ourselves!).

We got the NBA All-Star Game ripped for having no defense even though last year’s game was, if anything, worse (yay short attention span!).

We got the Boogie Cousins trade and the national revulsion of all the thought processes the Sacramento Kings put into this perpetually rolling disaster (yay making Boogie and Vivek Ranadive household names!).

And now we got the Great Sutton United Pie-Fixing Scandal. Yeah, pie-fixing. Hell never felt so fun.

So here’s the deal. Sutton United, a very small fry in English soccer, got to the fifth round of the FA Cup, a competition in which all the clubs in England are commingled and play each other until one team remains. The big clubs almost always win, so any time a small club goes deep, it’s a big deal.

Anyway, Sutton went deeper in the competition than nearly anyone in the last century, a charming development given that it is such a small club that it had a stadium caretaker, goalie coach and backup goalie all in one massive fellow, a 46-year-old guy named Wayne Shaw. Shaw became the globular embodiment of the entire Sutton Experience, a jolly lark for everyone involved and especially when he ate a pie on the bench in the final minutes of Sutton’s Cup-exiting loss to Arsenal.

And now he’s been eased into resigning his jobs with the club, because – and this is so very British – there were betting shops taking action on whether he would in fact eat a pie on the bench, and he either did or did not tip off his pals that he was going to chow down on television.

He did eat the pie. His pals collected on their bets. The sport’s governing body opened an investigation into market manipulation by gambling – which is hilarious given that no fewer than 10 gambling establishments have advertising deals with English soccer clubs. Shaw was invited to quit to kill the story, and he took the hint.

Hey, dreams die all the time. But it’s still pie-fixing. Let that rattle around your head for a minute. Pie-fixing. Not match-fixing. Not point-shaving. Pie-fixing.

Now how can you not love this year?

Sure, it sucks for Shaw, but it serves as a series of cautionary tales for athletes around the world.

* Gambling is everywhere, and every time you inch toward it, you dance on the third rail.

* If you want to help your friends, give them cash.

* This is a horribly delicious way to lose your gig.

* And finally, fun in the 21st century isn’t ever truly fun because someone in a suit and a snugly-placed stick is going to make sure you pay full retail for that fun.

But it is nice to know that something that has never happened before is now part of our year. Pie-fixing is a thing now, as silly in its way as Irving’s flat-earth narrative was. And as we steer away from normal games as being too run-of-the-mill-fuddy-duddy entertainment, we have replaced them with sideshows.

Or do you forget how many people complained Saturday and Sunday that the dunk contest wasn’t interesting enough? How stupid is that?

Lots. Lots of stupid. But against pie-tin-shaped planets and pies turned into betting coups, how can it possibly compare?

We chase a lot of idiotic narratives in our sporting lives. The great What Will The Patriots Do To Roger Goodell story died like the old dog it was. We still try to flog Warriors-Thunder as a rivalry in search of better TV ratings when all the obvious evidence is that it is no such thing unless you think a couple that broke up nine months ago is still a solid story. We have Bachelor fantasy leagues, for God’s sake.

This would leave most normal folks in despair, thus matching their everyday experiences, but yin meets yang, and every time it looks like we are all barrel-rolling into the sun, we get Irving, and then we get Wayne Shaw.

In short, 2017 is going to be fun of grand surprises for us all. I look forward to the day President Trump tries to fete the Patriots and only gets to Skype with Bob Kraft and the equipment guys who midwifed DeflateGate, and Mark Davis in Las Vegas, just to see if he can get a P.F. Chang’s into the Bellagio.

Why not? This is sport’s year-long tribute to sketch comedy, and evidently everyone is signing on enthusiastically to replace lessons of morality and honor and equality and dignity and sportsmanship with slackened jaws and belly laughs.

So yay sports! Or as it is clearly becoming, A Night At The Improv.