In Honor of Some Dude I Met at The Shamrock

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CULTR
Persian Princesses. And the like. What're you gonna do? My bar friend says: the tradeoff for the ridiculously high (read: IRS meets Jim Brewer) maintenence women is their sex-slave mentality.

This is a good thing.

Still: doesn't a woman's looks have something to do with her -- what's it called -- personality?

And so the great debate rages on.

Now, I grant you, the only thing I know about Persia (Siam) is the following inane Disney stanza:

We are Siamese if you please /
We are Siamese if you don't please /
We are former residents of Siam /
There are no finer cats than I am.

Also, there was this fascinating documentary on early American Siamese twins (who were actually Chinese or, you know... something) who made a fortune as freaks, married two women, and bought a big house. You can imagine the hijinks that ensued when one of the brothers, frustrated with his lack of privacy and the limited medical technology of the early 20th century, took to drink...

(A happy ending, by hari kari standards: the brother eventually died; the other soon followed suit, days later, basically dying of loneliness. An autopsy revealed that an operation to separate the two would have been pretty simple - but without X-Rays or other inventions, they'd never known.)

Suffice to say, I've taken a pass on the Persians, but am more than willing to say "to each his own" and "daaaaamn, you see dat ass?"

MR

QWTOFDY
"He has all the virtues I dislike, and none of the vices I admire."
-Winston Churchill

Skipper Tomb Alou

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SPRT
A brief item on Woody Rueter in this morning's Chron can be dissected for both essential "pros" and "cons" of Felipe Alou's stewardship of the Giants. Rueter, a lefty in the mold of a Glavine or Moyer, succeeds by hitting bats, rather than missing them. This year he's been hitting them smack on the barrel, and earned himself a demotion to the bullpen. Rueter is also a consummate winner, a longtime Giant, and popular with teammates and fans, many of whom have heard tales of gatherings at his expansive "shed" of deluxe entertainment gear.

Henry Shulman, the Giants beat writer who somehow caused Barry Bonds to insist earlier this season that he'd never give an interview while Shulman was in the room, was qualifying yesterday's statements from Reuter that he'd prefer either an established role or a trade. In that context, Shulman, who would know, writes, "That [Reuter] would air his grievances with reporters... demonstrates a deep frustration that he shares with others on the team." Reuter is quoted as saying, "I don't know if the whole atmosphere is conducive to performing."

Now, that's not what the piece is about, but these are hints of a greater problem. Alou has somehow lost the team this year, and lost it from the start. Alou, an avid fisherman, is indeed baseball's closest approximation of the title character in "The Old Man and the Sea." He hasn't lost his competetive grip -- he trudges miles a day making pitching changes alone -- but his soothing air may be the wrong tonic for a club of oldsters who have slumbered through Barry Bonds' absensce.

Why was Art Howe a flop in Houston, a genius in Oakland, and now a disappointment with the Mets? It could very well be that a laid-back attitude is best suited to younger players. Brett Tomko refuses to be any less stubborn than discarded prodigy Jerome Williams, Ray Durham has given up completely on his bread-and-butter running game, and Edgardo Alfonso continues to simulate your heart rate on the treadmill: at 70-85% of maximum. When the Giants needed a swift kick, it was 37-year-old kid Omar Vizquel who spoke up. (Vizquel is a delight, a pure Hall of Famer, and not a Giants fan alive wants him anywhere else. The other day, during a pitching change, a camera caught him calmly dropping his helmet on second base, only to have it pop back to him like a yoyo. Priceless.)

On the other hand, Alou, with his all-seeing attitude, even tone, and Puerto Rican accent, makes for a delightful sage. "Crap" is one of his favorite words. In today's item on Reuter, whom he managed years ago in Montreal, Alou was quoted: "You can imagine [how I feel about] a guy like Woody, who pitched for me when he was a baby. I'm dying a thousand deaths every time he comes to the mound and doesn't bring his 'A' stuff. I hope Woody throws the crap out of the ball in Milwaukee."

But Alou's formulaic approach can also seem cold and distant. (Great line from the Bad News Bears: "Baseball's a tough game -- you can love it, but it don't always love you back. Like dating a German chick.") In Monday's game, Alou pulled Jason Schmidt, who clearly had brought his 'A' stuff, after seven innings in a two-one game.

Alou seems not to understand balancing formulas with hunches. Playing by the book tends to return you to the norm, so with a greater sample size of pitchers, success will be achieved at increasingly normal levels, as one hot pitcher is replaced with a cold one, et cetera. Thus, if you feel your current option is better than the norm -- which Schmidt was Monday -- you leave him in. Instead, Alou used five relievers, the last of whom, Tyler Walker, gave up the lead on his first pitch. Asked to use crap in a sentence after the game, Alou said lamely, "I've seen 10-run leads evaporate in this park; tonight it was not the long ball, but a bunch of crap hits." Well, and you don't bring your fifth-best gun to the duel.

In all, Alou's tenure has been much like Dusty Baker's: a lot of success, a few bullpen snafu's and some confounding failures at key times -- how much of this can be blamed on the manager? Across the bay, visionary GM Billy Beane considers the entire postseason a crapshoot -- plus more personality than the average skipper, without Dusty's whiney undertone or naming firstborn sons after Darren Lewis. Heck, I was lobbying for Alou a year before Dusty hit the gate.

And speaking of the front office taking my advice, Brian, if you're reading: trade Feliz. Trade Feliz! Hit some homers, very scoutable body; versatile, young, cheap. Also, inflated numbers (exposed by peripheral numbers, like OBP, and hidden by cleanup spot,) won't stop diving for the outside pitch or adjust to situations. You've got yourself an average major league hitter -- remember, Feliz is already past 30 -- that some teams would probably love a crack at.

Hey, I called the Billy Owens deal -- it's hard to remember now, but Billy Owens for Mitch Richmond was the beginning of the end for the Warriors, back when Chris Webber was still a twinkle in Don Nelson's eye.

One argument in favor -- yes, in favor -- of steroids: last year's Bonds-Gagne matchup. Ninth inning. Gagne registered between 99 and 102 on the gun, and Bonds kept swinging mightily, fouling pitches back until he caught up with one, sailing it over the fence in deep centerfield. We may never see anything like it again.

This all might, just might, have been prevented if: it weren't for the 1994 strike. Yes, both sides missed a golden opportunity to stamp out steroids before the monster mutated -- but I'm talking about a forgotten hero. When the strike hit on August 12, and Alou's sizzling young Expos (Vlad Guerrero, Larry Walker, Pedro Martinez, John Wetteland) were the best team in baseball before being sold for scrap, the Giants' own Matt Williams had hit 43 homers. With seven weeks to make a run at the record, Williams was a consummate pro at the top of his game (also, a talented defender, quiet, likeable, and white) who just might have generated the exitement McGwire and Sosa fed on, along with some shiesty Kool-Aid, four years later.

I'm just sayin'.

MR

QWTOFDY
"We must be the change we want to see in the world."
-Mahatma Ghandi

What Is the Sound of Schmidt Happening?

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SPRT
One reason no Giants fan wants to see them trade Jason Schmidt: they know he's a great pitcher... who hasn't gotten his chance. Or at least, not his due -- remember him at less than full strength in the 2002 postseason, plugging in a win every five days, and willing them to their lone October 2003 victory, without his curveball, the day the Giants began turning into the old, shitty team you now see before you.

Is the problem that he's always be playing hurt, and it's starting to catch up to him? (If you want steroid fallout controversy, his year is probably similar to what a cheater, if pitchers really lead the pack in that, experiences going clean again.)

But Schmidt is a Schilling, they're very similar, in fact, a guy, when right, with number one stuff and a keen sense of how to shut you down. Anyone around here's seen a game where Schmidt's clearly scuffling, they're behind early, then somehow by the eighth he's throwing darts at 96 with eleven K's, up 5-2.

You've seen some awesome closers who picked up heat converting from the rotation. Exhibit A is Gagne (I'm willing to say, a good steroids bet,) not to mention your John Smoltz, and when Randy's done it, WOW. (If anyone has a copy of the 1995 ALDS between Seattle and the Yankees, I'll pay you good cash money.)

Schmidt could very well do the same thing -- again, if he's able to go. Which is funny, because Schmidt was an everyday horse in Pittsburgh, if not a particularly good one. Anyway, here's hoping the Giants were just off by a year or two when they thought they had a great young rotation.

Roger Clemens: what, the fuck.

The A's, though, look very much for real. And the Giants can keep losing through the year if I can squeeze seven wins out of the Niners.

MR

QWTOFDY
"Everything should be as simple as possible, but not simpler."
-Albert Einstein

Ashes to Usher; Bridges to Babylon

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MUS
Now here's a really interesting development. The government tells you exactly how much of what kind of music to play on your radio station.

And I, for one, am all for it.

That's right, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez (no relation to boxer Julio Cesar Chavez) managed to pass a law dictating that Venezuelan radio stations must play Venezuelan music at least half the time. In turn, half of that time must be used on music classified as "traditional." The law has already led to several new phenomena: bizarre set lists, like gangsta rap backed up against Andean flutes; a rush among Venezuelan artists to cover popular foreign tunes; and Britney Spears rubbing her belly and murmuring, "We don't need those nasty Africans, do we Numblekins?"

If, like many right-thining citizens, you think our own airwaves suffer from overplay of "artists" like Linkin Park and Ginuwine, I propose we pass a similar law here at home: 99% of airplay shall be reserved for groups who can spell their own name.

POL
Just for fun: the following excerpt from CNN.com today. Context completely irrelevant:

"In 2001, Bush's daughter Jenna, then 19, wore black flip-flops in court, along with pink capri pants and a sleeveless black shirt, when she pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor charge of being a minor in possession of alcohol."

Thank you.

SPRT
Another tangental development bears mention in the continuing steroids scandal (more on this below, under politics, naturally) as another Venezuelan, also not related to Julio Cesar Chavez, has made the news. Rafael Betancourt, who became the Indians' setup man when he lost a preseason sumo wrestling match to closer Bob Wickman, two throws to none, has returned from his suspension for testing positive for a banned substance.

Betancourt, 30, has not been told what that banned substance was, but speculated, in a story parroted by native Spanish speakers, that he may have injested it through an over-the-counter purchase while playing winter league ball in his home country. Normally, a player plays until his appeal is settled; Betancourt has already served his suspension, yet continues his appeal, for one reason.

"I don't care about the suspension or the money they took," he says. "Just clear my name from that word." The word, of course, is "steroids," and emphasizes the polarizing effect and subtle complications inherent in trying to ferret out illegal inhancements in baseball and the U.S. as a whole.

A phone call to Betancourt's congressman in Venezuela was not immediately returned.

POL
In other news: The Governator trotted out his degenerative knees and swollen hair for the cameras, signing legislation yesterday that officially puts an end to the beginning of rebuilding the Bay Bridge. Thus terminates, one hopes, another political failure in a surprisingly long recent string for the Awesome Austrian. Of course, Schwarzenegger, who enjoyed a post-recall bi-partisan madate every bit as strong as the post-9/11 mandate Bush blew and swallowed, had resisted the will of the people for a year, for no obvious reason other than partisan muleheadedness (or, understandably, Southern California bias. Remember: nurses and teachers are special interests, not movie producers.)

I have to admit, I don't know all the details of the bridge funding -- it's possible not a single person does -- nor about his many failings at, for example, trying to squeeze California's just desserts out of the Fed as promised. (I think it was: he swore we had $6 billion coming to us, he went to Washington and came back with a promise of maybe $60 million, of which $1 million was actually delivered. The genesis of this is that California is one of those States that gets less federal money than what it contributes, in this case only about 70 cents on the dollar.)

So that's it! Sorry I couldn't give you the uglier, just-as-expensive bridge. And I promise the State (you know, the State the bridge is being built in the middle of) will pay for some of the delays I forced.

Schwarzenegger, for those not keeping track, also was the subject of two interesting Chronicle headlines this weekend. The top headline for Friday and Saturday:

7/15: Governor Won't Give Up Second Job
(Article outlines the millions he makes as a "consultant" for a muscle magazine, as well as how that may be a conflict of interest, given that he's already vetoed legislation prohibiting steroids, particularly among young people;)

7/16: Governor To Quit Second Job
(Subhead: Schwarzenegger relents amid controversy over lucrative pay and potential conflict of interest.)

And there you have it: politics from the heart. (A little more of that, and maybe they'll finally give Arnold his "Compassionate Conservative" badge to go with his Physical Fitness medal for running a mile in under ten minutes in P.E.)

You see, there's two sides to every Schwarzenegger. But seriously: at least he doesn't cozy up to Bush.

Now taking bets: 2008 Presidential Race? On a total flier, I'll take Hillary (not Duff) and Arnold (not that charming-ass pig on Green Acres) in the finals.

2005 Supreme Court Justice? Tune in tonight at six. Says here Bush's choice is bad, but could be worse -- and gets confirmed. But: the real problems arise when Rhenquist retires, or dies: before Bush is out. That one, Bush's legacy pick, defies confirmation, turns into a huge disaster and, just for fun, spills headlong into the election. You'll be butt-sick of that one, I promise you.

Why not kill two birds and nominate Bolton and Rove? Four birds. Ten thousand Iraqis. Whatever.

MR

QWTOFDY
"Cured yesterday of my disease,
I died last night of my physician."
-Matthew Prior

Dastardly Almost Crime Almost Committed

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POL
So, maybe you noticed me trying to keep away from the Karl Rove story. My hatred for the piece itself, actually, is similar to my distaste for the steroids bit. It's what's known as the 600 lb. gorilla phenomenon. What huge thing are we not talking about?

Barry Bonds: pretty certainly "did it;" public condemnation took a full year or two to fully solidify; "did it" subject to precise definitions of "did" and "it." Rove: same deal.

The latest Bush manuever -- a tapdancing number like Christopher Walken's in that Moby video -- is a prime example of something nobody likes: semantics.

Bush, of course, has only himself to blame, or at least the same mysterious "other people" (nameless, faceless, but usually including Rove himself) that we knew we were really voting for when we voted for Bush in the first place. (I remember living in a divided household, two and two, during the 2000 debates. Bush's supporters generally recognized their candidate was a moron, but explained other people would actually be running the show. I wish I could be back in time, asking them to provide specific names and motives.)

After all, proving that Rove did what he did will be hard enough. (Corrallary: Conte pleads to four months in Club Fed, pocketing millions; Jason Giambi's hitting .524 with six jacks in his last seven games.) Proving Rove acted criminally will be next to impossible. To do that, someone has to PROVE Rove INTENTIONALLY revealed Valerie Plame's ACTUAL name (did you notice the shameless bastards test-driving the "all I said was 'it was Joe Wilson's wife' defense?") while he KNEW she was undercover, with INTENT to expose her. (Viable alternative you heard here first: I've read my share of comic books, and Lewis Libby (Cheney's Chief of Staff) sounds an awful lot like a "fall guy" name to me.)

So now, after a week or two of backpeddling worse than Alex Sanchez on a gapper, someone in the big, white mansion figured it'd be a lot easier to just change stories again. After all, it was Bush's historic mouth, not the law, that made mere "involvement" in the matter the litmus test -- and if you've ever seen old Alfred E. debate, you know how he HATES litmus tests. Whatever they are.

The Roveans figure, if it's so tough to prove the crime, let's just make crime the new standard. That's not, after all, a textbook 100% reversal. More of a 68% reversal, which plenty of people -- say, anyone between Walnut Creek, California and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- lack the faculties to fully grasp.

As usual, there's an upside and a downside. (You see, there's two sides to every Schwarz.) Upside: you get an inordinately strong headline like the one on CNN.com: "Bush vows to fire anyone who committed crime in CIA leak." Now that's proactive crimestopping! Rather than: "Bush finally speaks: sky purple, not orange." The only downside: you still have to fire criminals.

Thanks to Robert Novak -- whose story outed Plame in the first place -- and his uncanny sense for when to enter the grand jury room with a couple dozen extra Snickers bars, Time Magazine's Matt Cooper is now the guy with his face in the papers and his butt on the line. So, due to a sense of duty not seen since the last staging of Pinafore, I've emailed Matt with a little insider knowledge.

Yes: I have knowledge of a crime being committed by a White House staffer. The details:

Collusion with corporate CEOs to defraud average Americans of hundreds of millions of dollars. Voter intimidation; racial profiling; election fraud. Holding dozens of guys with names like Akbar al In Nocent and Mexi No Badi for years; no lawyers, no visitors, no charges. (Periodic yard and torture-room privileges.) Oh: and I almost forgot, murdering tens of thousands of people an in illegal war.

That should just about do it for everyone in Washington short of the Lincoln Memorial. I can't think of any problem foisting the whole bunch, except that the Expos will have to relocate again.

Gotta go check email -- maybe Cooper wants to pay me.

This is all very exciting.

MR

QWTOFDY
"I love treason but hate a traitor."
-Julius Caesar

Worst- Pitch- Ever.

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SPRT
Well, we've seen it, the worst pitch of the baseball season. I don't see how another pitch will surpass it -- unless Kenny Rogers takes chair-throwing lessons from teammate Frank Francisco -- so I'm sticking it straight onto the postseason awards list.

After a thousand-odd minor league at-bats (standard protocol -- this ain't no NBA) Cubs prospect Adam Greenberg got the call and stepped to the plate in Florida, ready for the first pitch of his Major League career. Think of dear Mrs. Greenberg, nearly toppling her blintzes as she rushes to the TV back in New Haven. Valerio de los Santos looks in, winds, and throws. Greenberg gets a great look at it -- before it drills him in the head.

Ouch. And if you've never tried it, take it from me, that'll stun you some.

So what does Chicago do? They do what any terrible franchise would do.

They call up Ben Grieve.

MR

QWTOFDY
"We try to focus on what really matters to Kentucky."
-KY Homeland Security spokesman, explaining why officials recently tested emergency anti-terror procedures at the state goat show.

FINALLY!!!

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LAW
Well, the streak was bound to end sometime. And you can't call me dishonest. Or you can, but now I get to slap you.

Yes, yes, the streak of me being right about EVERYTHING -- scooping the pro's by weeks on steroids, politics, and Sheryl Crow looking like a horse -- has, sadly, reached its evitable conclusion. And Rhenquist wheezes on.

SPRT
So just for sticking with, I'll throw you a bone. Francisco Liriano -- mentioned last time in the same breath as Rhenquist (different paragraph, but I've got lungs like Dolly Parton) -- is the former San Francisco Giants farmhand we begged them to take along with Joe Nathan for AJ "DP" Pierzynski. Granted, after Nathan, Liriano would be only the second Brian Sabean error in judgement (different from bad idea; I'm talking about judge of talent) since Keith Foulke, or rather since Jose Mesa came the other way the following year.

And, lest it be forgotten, "DP" Pierzynski is not awful, never was. So what's worse than awful? He's one of those players just good enough to suck ball bearings. For Warriors fans, Donyell Marshall may seep to mind -- "Marshall, shaken violently from a deep slumber by assistant coach Rod Higgins, seems to be in a bit of a haze tonight" -- and Donyell's still in the league.

Not that I'm defending Pierzynski, although it's true he's the best "pees, zees, and skis" player since Tim Pyznarski. (I tried peeing, zeeing, and skiing this winter at Tahoe, but the Kirkwood staff was not amused. As Frank Zappa penned, "Don't Eat the Yellow Snow.") No, defend AJ, and you risk disproving the "blase West Coast fan" theory, with your plasma as Exhibit A.

POL
In Gevas, a rural town in eastern Turkey, two breakfasting shepherds were surprised by one of their sheep running to the edge of a cliff, then jumping over. Imagine their shock, then, when FIFTEEN HUNDRED more sheep followed suit.

In a nation where the Gross Domestic Product averages $2,700 (US) per person, losses to local families exceeded $100,000.

The good news is, Republicans lost the recent election there, by fifteen hundred votes.

POT
Hey, bet you thought I'd miss the opportunity for headers "POL, POT." Exciting, right? I'll save you the trouble: read every third letter of this missive back-to-front, and it spells out the real truth about the "virgins" those suicide bombers will be kickin' it with after death.

Neat, huh?

Yes, and we all knew this was coming, but in POT news: marijuana gives you night vision.

It's true. Another new study. I haven't read the details. I was going to, but things got all squinty. I snagged some more peanut butter and raisin Doritos instead.

MR

QWTOFDY
"There's a house on my street
It looks real neat
I'm the chap who lives in it
There's a tree in the sidewalk
There's a car by the door
I'll go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone..."
-The Police

Cold Number

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STU
Stupid things people say to me, number 61: "That's a lot of ice cream."

That's a stupid thing to say. I know it's a lot of ice cream.

Just so you know: I'm an eater. Not so much a licker.

PS
Meant to mention, sources inform me that Chief Justice Billy Rhenquist retires tomorrow. I don't have anything funny to say about that.

And if you think your boy Bush can't find someone more conservative than Rhenquist himself, I think Bush takes that as a challenge.

SPRT
Another little bird told me that Francisco Liriano, lefthanded, 21 years old, and recently promoted to AAA, already has three Major League "plus" pitches.

If you don't know what that has to do with anything, I don't have the heart to tell you.

MR

QWTOFDY
"A thought, once uttered, is a lie."
-Fedor Tiutchev

Frogs Equals French Equals Hate Our Freedoms

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POL
As I remember it, the first thing Clinton was asked to do as President was to sort out the gays in the military fiasco. That was a nice one, as fiascos go. I don't know what's worse, Liberace pledging the SEALS, or the SEALS being asked, nicely, to let him join up. The result recalls a line from a judge on Law & Order: "I know I'm right when nobody's happy."

Remember Bush's first move as President? He backed us out of the Kyoto Treaty. Reduces global warming, saves cute frogs? Not for me, Bub. I shoot cute frogs with my fully-legal semi-automatic.

So, now that the G8 conference in Somewhere, Not America is in the news (because there was a, what do you call it... U2 concert) Bush's stance on the treaty, though basically the same, is being aired as a news item four years later.

The mainstream news media scoop themselves once again; and by a wide margin.

We can call this progress: Bush has admitted that global warming exists. Which is good.

I don't mean global warming. That's not good. Global warming, it turns out, is bad.

(Although, have you heard this? Thanks to their government advertising heavily in its own financial interest, most Chinese citizens think smoking is good for their health. I'm serious. Although all things equal, I prefer the Irish "Guiness Is Good For You" campaign, for obvious reasons.)

President Yeehaw goes so far as to suggest that humans might play a role in the global warming trend. It's nice to know he's been following along.

The President even offered a solution: rather than buy into a treaty that might save the world but hurt the economy -- Bush would never do anything to hurt the economy -- he suggested governments be asked to enforce emissions scalebacks voluntarily.

I know we're going to be right on the forefront of this one.

Some might suggest that, as a Californian, I should know better. They might suggest that, hypothetically, the top-secret circle jerks between ENRON executives and the Dick Cheney Energy All-Stars might not have been in our best interests, given the blatant corruption and widespread blackouts in...

And the average Bush voter shoots a squirrel and takes a nap.

Here's what really bothers me: I haven't met any of them, but just by the raw numbers, there's bound to be some Bush supporter out there who's not a complete moron.

I can't believe it. You can't believe it. And the Bushie -- well, he can believe anything.

And if I'm you, I get tired of reading this. Because if I'm me -- hypothetically -- I get tired of writing it.

Wait! I've got --

Holy zing, another --

Okay, two hot ideas!

One: let's make EVERY worldwide government regulation voluntary. Emissions treaties! Nuclear treaties! Giving us bin Laden -- heck, that one's already a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure!

Two: let's go out to the ballpark, all together now. Curative-like. Someplace like Milwaukee. Let's go there, and let's imagine that hot dogs are, for a moment, the whole world.

So let's find the biggest damn German bratwurst we can lay our oil-stained hands on. Then let's suck that dog until the juices dribble down our jowells, until the sausage shrivels like a used-up birthday balloon. Just suck every morsel of happiness and life right out of it.

Then let's all say, "aaaahhhhhggghhbbbllt."

Then let's VOLUNTARILY not fart.

Squeeze those cheeks, now.

Farts cause methane emissions.

MR

QWTOFDY
"Happiness, no longer sad --
Happiness, I am glad."
-Led Zeppelin