Ratto: No wine for Bochy as Giant bats stay silent


Ratto: No wine for Bochy as Giant bats stay silent

Aug. 6, 2011


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Bruce Bochy swears on a stack of Tractor Shed red that the Giants will snap out of their current offensive narcolepsy.At least he would if he could.I dont drink wine when we lose, he said, with the resigned air of a man who has not had his customary glass with dinner in a good long time. Doesnt taste the same.Well, everything tastes like bile with a frothy head these days for the Giants, and deservedly so. After Cole Hamels stood on their collective thorax for nine innings in Philadelphias 2-1 win Saturday, the ants found themselves in an even deeper level of the mine. The loss was their eighth in nine games and 11th in 16, and over those 16 games, they have scored a ridiculous 35 runs.Which is why Bochy believes the worst is behind him -- because 140 years of baseball history says it has to be.

Were better than weve shown, I know we are, he said after Saturdays loss. Weve got guys scuffling out there, sure, but weve made changes, and weve brought in new players, and we know its going to get better. Maybe being a little consistent about the lineups will help.RECAP: Cain takes hard-luck loss; Giants fall 2-1 to Phils
That is Bochys latest idea to spark this inert lineup -- leaving the players with fewer wonders about if and where they bat in the lineup. His frantic attempts to find and hold a working combination have clearly failed, as the Giants remain a stern 29th in runs scored, and 27th or lower in the other standard production metrics.And over those 16 games? Theyre hitting .214. Batting average may not be a great predictor of anything, but .214 with 2.19 runs per game not only predicts but screams.Granted, some of this is the opponent, as they have faced a steady stream of good pitchers at the upper right quartile of their game. But the Giants arent exactly throwing them a 32-sided Rubiks cube to solve, either. They have one consistent hitting outfielder (Carlos Beltran), first baseman Aubrey Huff is the new target du jour, shortstop Orlando Cabrera has not yet hit the stride expected of him, and catcher is an ongoing out.And yes, it is the stated opinion of this squalid little corner of the Internet that these are the truest form of the Giants -- a team of underhitting, overpitching adults who should be barely ahead of Florida in the overall standings, and not even contemplating October.But World Series champions arent afforded that luxury, or of pouting, or of excusifying (forgive us, but we just wanted to play with a word for a minute). This is the either-you-do-or-you-dont portion of the show, and they have stopped hitting just in time to lose five games off a 4-game lead.And Bochy is not hiding his greater contempt beneath a veneer of hopeful anticipation. He knows they wont become the Boston Red Sox. But he believes they cant be the Seattle Mariners. Talent, clear-headed, intelligent-approach-enriched talent, cannot average 2.2 runs per game. The National League average is 4.13; normal for the Giants ought to be, say, 3.75, even allowing for the horror implied in that number.But 2.2 is ridiculous, and .214 is impossible. Which is why Bochy believes that gravity cannot be defied, it can be delayed just long enough for the bullpen to save the day.Much has been made of the Phillies rivalry, exacerbated as it was by the Friday Night Luau. But the Giants have shown in this series, and moreover since June 30, that their real rivalries are with Arizona (the team that can keep them out of the postseason by holding its own until the schedule favors them in September) and themselves (they are 16-16 since June ended).RELATED: Giants Insider gallery: Anatomy of a Brawl
The Phillies? Make that Jim Mora high-pitched squeaking noise and say it again. The enemy is not leaving town tomorrow, it is in the Pacific Time Zone, and often in the 415 area code.But Bruce Bochy says it will improve because it has to, and he is right. There is so little room left for deterioration that the law of big numbers says it must be so.

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.

Patriots win one for the ages, but where does it rank?

Patriots win one for the ages, but where does it rank?

The price of watching Roger Goodell being booed back to the Bronze Age is a subtle but real one, and one that people will feel very dearly soon enough.

The last great cathartic Super Bowl is now done, with the New England Patriots winning the brilliant and decisive battle to be sports’ new evil empire. In doing so, it rendered Goodell a permanent and risible punch line in National Football League history, the mall cop who wanted the death penalty for littering, and in the words of the song “got what he wanted but he lost what he had.”

True, $40 million a year can make the dissolution of your public persona a reasonably decent tradeoff, but we lost the argument about who won his windmill tilt with the Patriots. It’s done, and he is now permanently and irrevocably a figure of ridicule.

But that’s not the only debating point America lost Sunday night, and while you wouldn’t think it given how much time we are willing to shouting at each other, quality arguments are not easily replaced.

We have almost surely lost the mindless debate about the best quarterback ever, because there is nothing anyone can bring up that the words “Tom Brady” cannot rebut except calling his own plays, and since that is no longer allowed in football, it is a silly asterisk to apply.

We have almost surely lost the equally silly shouter about the best coach ever. Bill Belichick is defiantly not fun, but he has built, improved and bronzed an organizational model that is slowly swallowing the rest of the sport. That and five trophies makes him the equal if not better of the short list of Paul Brown, George Halas, Vince Lombardi, Bill Walsh and Tom Landry.

Plus, Belichick locked up the most absurd response to a question in coaching history Monday when he said, “As great as today feels . . . we're five weeks behind the other teams for the 2017 season.” Even allowing for Gregg Popovich in-game interviews, the so-grim-he-could-make-a-robot-cry worship-the-process response has now become a cliché. If 2017 prep was so important, he should have skipped yesterday’s game, and he definitely should have chosen not to waste so much time on the trophy stand after the game when training camp drills needed to be scheduled.

Oh, and DeflateGate died. Dead. No zombie possibilities here.

We do have a meatheaded argument ahead of us about which championship in the last year is the best, which can be settled here.

1. Leicester City, because 5,000-1 is 5,000-1, and the whole world understands that. Plus, there was invaluable three-month buildup that engaged non-soccer fans.

2. Chicago Cubs, because 108 years is 108 years.

3. New England Patriots, because . . . well, I don’t have to explain it unless you have no useful memory span. “Down 25 In The Third Quarter” is the new “Down 3-1.”

4. Cleveland Cavaliers, because they slayed the first unbeatable Warrior team by coming from 3-1 down, and even as a silver medalist, it will always be an internet meme, which is what passes for memorable in our decrepit culture.

5. (tie) Villanova basketball and Clemson football in a tie, because they were essentially the same great game.

7. The Pittsburgh Penguins, because the Stanley Cup Final was devoid of drama or high moments, and only 14:53 of overtime. Feh.

But everything else is settled, and this Super Bowl will not be topped for a long time. Our current cycle of absurd championships is almost surely going to end soon, because “Down 3-1” has happened twice in eight months (three times, if you count Warriors over Thunder), and the bar has now been placed well beyond reasonable clearing.

Indeed, the only thing left is for a championship team to spontaneously combust on the award stand. But if they do so and ignite Roger Goodell along the way, that would be an ending America would cheerfully endorse.

But that also isn’t an argument any more, and yes, that includes Gary Bettman.