Rubber ducky, you're the one

From the wires of the Associated Press . . .

Woman, 90, is rescued after three days stuck in bathtub

WALNUT CREEK — A 90-year-old Northern California woman too weak to get out of her bathtub was rescued after three days during which she drank water collected in a rubber duck to stay hydrated. Shirley Madsen was found in her Walnut Creek home by her daughter after the family became concerned that she hadn't returned phone calls. . . . Madsen had climbed into the tub May 27 after returning from a seniors group trip to a casino. She had not eaten since breakfast and found she was too weak to get out, authorities said. . . . She was also too weak to cup water in her hands, so she used a rubber duck as a cup. She repeatedly added hot water to the tub to stay warm.

Senior citizen emergency first aid kit

Unit-y

When the Giants signed Randy Johnson this spring, my reaction was to roll my eyes and cry, "Why?!" How was a 45-year-old pitcher supposed to help a team ostensibly focused on shucking the old guys and looking to bring on younger players? Moreover, pitching wasn't exactly where we were lacking in talent.

Well, I can eat crow when it's well prepared, and Randy Johnson is about as well prepared as it's possible to be. The Big Unit got his 300th win yesterday, only the 24th pitcher in the 140-year history of Major League Baseball to do so and one of only a small handful of leftys to do so. But what impressed me most about his achievement is what he had to say about it; better, how he said it. Following the game, in interviews and at a news conference, he was articulate about the game of baseball, the art of pitching and his role in what it takes to win a game. A thoughtful guy, grateful for the chance to be where he is, and gracious in his acknowlegement of his teammates, past and present, whose skill at the plate and in the field made those wins possible. And oh, yeah, one more thing: He didn't come to the Giants to win five games, he signed on to help the team win, maybe even make it to the playoffs.

This morning, on KNBR 680 (THE Sports Leader!), Mike Kruko talked about last night's plane ride down to Florida following the games (yes, there were two games, a double-header due to the rainout Tuesday, and Matt Cain got his 7th win of the year in Game 2. Way to go, Matty!). There was a champagne toast, and somebody brought out a cake. And Randy Johnson was on that plane to accept those tributes. He could have headed to Arizona for four days, spent time with his family, relaxing until the Giants get there next week. Instead, he got on the plane with the rest of the team. When he was asked why, he said it just wouldn't have felt right not to be there.

Thanks, Randy. I am glad you got No. 300 wearing a San Francisco Giants uniform. It's a privilege to watch you pitch, a pleasure to hear you talk about the game. Here's to your next win.

Rockin' robin

For probably the past two weeks (one doesn't notice when things like this begin, only that they've been going on for quite a while), a robin who hangs out in the trees to the south of my house begins singing at first light (I hear him—I assume it's a him—at 5 a.m or earlier). And he continues to sing. All day. Really. All day long. He doesn't stop. It's now just after 9 p.m., and, probably because it's finally dark, he's quit for the day. But he'll start in again tomorrow, just as he has for days. And days.

I mostly like hearing him, especially when I first wake up; much nicer than waking to the sound of trash trucks. But quite honestly, he's beginning to make me twitchy. Why does he sing all day long? Is he trying to entice a mate? Warn other birds away? Obsessive-compulsive? Does he not eat? Or drink? And why isn't he hoarse by now? But I don't really want him to stop; I'd just like to know why he doesn't seem to be able to.