A winning season

The regular baseball season is over for the Giants, who—surprisingly, improbably—were in the hunt up until the 158th game. They ended up with 88 wins, 74 losses, some of those wins spectacular, some of the losses crushing, all of them entertaining.

I had a winning season, too. I'll remember the 2009 season as the one in which I went from being an interested and engaged fan to becoming a passionate and more knowledgeable one. So, in no particular order, here's my season wrap-up:

I went to 10 home games, almost three times as many as I've ever gone to in one season. I began with Opening Day (a win against the Brewers) and ended with the last home game of the season (a win against the D'backs). In between, I saw the Giants win four other games and lose four, giving me a .600 season—definitely a winner!

I got to see those games with lots of old friends (Gishi, Wayne, Liese, Alison, Allan, Phil) and one new one (Heather). Thanks, guys; there's nothing like the company of friends at the ballyard, having a beer and a cha-cha bowl, talking baseball.

Opening Day in the bleachers, April 7, 2009

Gishi, Liese, Wayne and me

Heather and me, Jon Miller Bobblehead Night
Giants v. Cincinnati Reds, August 7, 2009

I learned to (more or less) keep score. Printed out scorecards for myself and scored the games as I watched them on TV. Doing this helped me to believe I wasn't just sitting lumplike in front of the TV, and it also gave me something to do with my hands other than tear my hair when the Giants once again hit a weak grounder into a double play. I still have trouble figuring out what to do with double-switches and pinch runners, and I almost never toted up the final results, but I'll work on that next year.

I figure I watched or listened to nearly every one of the 162 games the Giants played. I paid attention, I learned stuff I didn't know before, I got better at seeing a curve ball or a slider (though I'm still baffled most of the time at how the guys in the broadcast booth can tell a two-seam fastball from a four-seam fastball).

I collected five more bobbleheads to add to my small-but-growing collection . . .


Four of them I got on Bobblehead Days—Tim Lincecum on May 17 (a win vs. the Mets), Brian Wilson on July 12 (a loss to the Padres), Jon Miller on Aug. 7 (a loss to the Reds), and Randy Johnson on Aug. 30 (a HUGE win over the Rockies!)—and the fifth, Matt Cain, I got as a "mystery gift" for making a contribution to the Jr. Giants on Opening Day . . .


Thanks to "Watching Baseball Smarter," I learned that pitchers, when they're throwing their warm-up pitches, tell the catcher what's coming by signaling with their glove! Wow. I started watching for this, and I felt like I'd discovered a secret code that let me in to an exclusive "in the know" group. No doubt lots of regular fans know this, but it was news to me, who's been watching baseball since the age of 4. It took me a while to remember which gesture indicates which pitch, but I think I've got it now (I cemented it into my brain by actually practicing the gestures myself). It's interesting to see how different pitchers execute it; some are really subtle, others much more emphatic. Way, way, WAY cool, and possibly the most exciting thing I discovered this year.

I discovered Andy Baggerly's blog on the Giants, "Extra Baggs." Baggerly writes for the San Jose Mercury News, and I found his writing and his observations to be the best of those who write regularly about the Gnats. Good stuff; I hope he keeps it going next year.

Making good on an idea we'd had for a couple of years, Liese, Wayne, Gishi and I went to a San Jose Giants game, and I'm here to tell you, it was way, way more fun than any RiverCats game I've ever been to. Here's how good it was: If I ever found myself in the god-awful position of having to move to the San Jose area, the horror would be tempered, perhaps even alleviated, by the knowledge that I could go to SJ Giants games a lot more often. I could even be a host family to a young player (does a family of one count as a family?). Anyway, I hope to go to a few more of those games next year.

Mostly, I just learned a lot, absorbed a lot, read a lot, talked a lot about baseball. I discovered I could talk knowledgeably about my team, the players, back up my opinions with something other than, "well, I just like the guy!" comments. One big thing I learned is that I have a lot more left to learn. I'm not good at remembering stuff; things like batting averages, ERAs, who we were playing when such-and-such happened, seem to float into my head and out, whereas things about the players, themselves, sticks more readily and stays around longer. But I think my 2009 season may have sharpened my skills a bit. We'll see next year.

And speaking of next year . . . I think it's time for another visit to Scottsdale and a Spring Training trip. Last one was in 2005, and I want to go again. As for now, I'll watch the playoffs and the World Series, then refresh my skills at some neglected things—reading, listening to NPR rather than KNBR (THE sports leader!), inviting friends for dinner, getting myself to the gym. The end of the season is always bittersweet, but pitchers and catchers report to Scottsdale in February, and it's nearly the middle of October already. I can hardly wait. Yet as Tony Bennett always reminds us after every Giants home game win . . .

"I left my heart in San Francisco . . ."

I took me out to the ballgame

As wrapped up in the Giants as I've been this year, I wanted to finish the season off right, so a few weeks ago I bought myself a ticket for Thursday's 12:45 p.m. game against the Diamondbacks, the Giants last home game of 2009. Left home about 9:30, made excellent connections on BART and Muni, and arrived at AT&T Park right at 11 o'clock.

It was a gorgeous day, more like a day in July than the first of October. Most of the time when I go to a game, I'm with at least one other person, and we're usually goal-oriented—get to the park, get to our seats and/or get something to eat. On my own on Thursday, my goal was to take my time, really see and enjoy every bit of being there. I walked around to the McCovey Cove side of the ballpark and looked at all of the plaques embedded in the walkway, something I'd never done. The newest one commemorates Jonathan Sanchez's July 10 no-hitter against the San Diego Padres

and there are maybe 10 or 12 more, quite a few of them celebrating a Barry Bonds milestone, others commemorating last year's All-Star Game and the opening of the park itself.

After duly admiring the plaques, it was time to shop! Went into the Dugout Store and bought a spiral-bound book of scorecards (yes, I know the season was nearly up, but there's next year to plan for), a Giants license plate frame (installed on Friday; it looks swell), a Giants magazine, a Sharpie pen, and two postcards for sending to my granddaughters. Saw an orange shirt I liked but decided not to get any more clothing items yet (maybe hold out for Spring Training . . .).

Then it was time to head into the park. My seat was in the first row of Section 323 of the View Box level, right above the Giants dugout. Great seat except for two things: a) the railing in front of the seats bisected the view, so next time I'll choose either row C or row D, and b) the seat was in the sun the entire day, and because it was so danged hot, I did a lot of sweating. Luckily, I brought a lot of sunscreen, and I used it liberally.

Time to eat. And drink! I'd considered getting my usual Cha-Cha Bowl from Orlando's, but the stand on my level was closed (usher said due to the low attendance numbers—low compared to the earlier part of the season, that is), so I decided to go ballpark traditional and got a kielbasa (sp?) with sauerkraut and washed it down with a Stella. Yum. Around the 6th inning, I fell into the hands of the Ghirardelli hot fudge sundae people, for which I am not ashamed.

The ballgame was wonderful. Lincecum on the mound, Rich Aurelia's last home game as a Giant, Randy Johnson coming in as a reliever in the 9th inning, and Timmy getting his 15th win. Plenty of fans wishing the team well, feeling a bit (but only a bit, on my part) disappointed that we didn't make the playoffs but happy and thankful for the hours and hours of entertainment we'd been given over the course of the season.

As the players came off the field after winning 7-4, ballpark staff handed them baseballs and pens. The players signed the balls, then tossed them into the crowd. I was up too high for one to reach me (though Lincecum hurled one pretty darn close), but next year, I'll remember this fun bit and maybe get closer. Didn't matter; I didn't need a souvenir baseball to remind me of a terrific day and a terrific season. I lingered at my seat, watching the players drift into the dugout, watching the grounds crew begin their post-game work, wondering if they stay on over the off-season and work the football games or if the football folks bring their own crew (a new football league will be playing in AT&T this year; hope they don't trash it!). Walked slowly out and down the ramp, checking out the stretch black limo waiting for someone (a player? front-office type? the investors?) and the team buses that were waiting to transport the Giants to the airport for their flight to San Diego. The season had ended at AT&T, but it wasn't over; there were three more games with the Padres starting the next night.

So, au revoir, AT&T; thanks for lots and lots of good times this year. See you in 2010!

(More on the end of the '09 season coming in the next post . . .)

L'shanah tovah, Mr. Clean!

I spent the better part of two hours today cleaning my bathroom. This undertaking was partly to have at least one part of the house clean for the new year, which begins today at sundown, and partly because, well, it just needed it.

Those of you who have seen my bathroom may be wondering how it could take so long to clean a space so small (visual hint for those who haven't had the pleasure: think Amtrak's Coast Starlight, coach class). The irony is that the room's very smallness makes cleaning it take extra time; the amount of backing up, backing out, opening and closing the door, moving cleaning supplies hither and thither and general running into myself every other minute adds time as well as frustration.

But the real reason it took so long is that I scoured every inch of the place, an undertaking involving sponges, scrubbies, cleaners, and brushes large (toilet) and small (tooth, which I used along the baseboard and around the base of the toilet). Did you know that the underside of a toilet tank gets dusty? News to me, but indeed, it does. No dust there any more! Tub, toilet, walls, sink, baseboards, floor Washed the insides of the windows (have no idea when I last did that, wiped down the tiled windowsill. Scrubbed out the aluminum window tracks. I even washed the toilet brush holder.

When I got through, I took down the rather tattered rice paper/bamboo roll-up windowshade and put it outside on the deck to be taken downstairs to the trash. Then I got on my bicycle and rode to Cost Plus to purchase a brand-new one, the piece de resistance, the finishing touch to my sparkling clean bathroom. Except that Cost Plus didn't have any of the dang things. Seems the FDA or some other meddlesome guvmint agency recalled all of them, apparently over a concern that children would become ensnared in the cords that raise and lower the shades (and if someone could please tell me how any of us boomer-aged types managed to survive our childhoods I'd be grateful), and until the manufacturer(s) figure out some other probably more cumbersome and less attractive method, I am outta luck. Not completely out, however, as my old shade was still there on the deck. So I retrieved it and hung it back in its spot. It's still tattered, and a bit dusty, but what the heck—the rest of the room looks swell. Happy new year!

They're the Topps

My friend Numenius gave me the best present yesterday evening—a set of San Francisco Giants baseball cards, tastefully (and thematically) wrapped in a newspaper story about Tim Lincecum. Wow! Baseball cards! Despite my love of the game and the many years I've been a fan, I've never owned a single baseball card. Not a one. And now I have a whole set featuring the 2009 San Francisco Giants. The team as it was constituted when those cards were printed, that is; I've noticed the absence of a few who were acquired recently and the presence of some players who have since been sent back to the farm. But the pitchers are there, and Pablo, and Bengie, and Aaron Rowand, and . . . well, see for yourself—here's today's starting lineup (click on the image for a really good look):

Giants starting lineup, Sunday, Aug. 23, 2009, vs. Colorado Rockies: 2B Velez, LF Winn, 3B Sandoval, C Molina, RF Schierholtz, 1B Garko (Ishikawa in for Garko), CF Rowand, SS Renteria, RHP Lincecum. Final score, Rockies 4, Giants 2.

With cards like these, they should have won the game. Thanks, Numenius! You're the best!

Prenuptial angst? The harpist is in . . .

From a wedding story in tonight's Davis Enterprise—

"The couple walked down the aisle accompanied by harp music played by harp and piano teacher and psychotherapist Karen Patterson."

You can't make this stuff up. Check that . . . you wouldn't make this stuff up.

Baseball rules

Yesterday's Giants-Dodgers game was tied 2-2 when Juan Uribe came to the plate in the bottom of the 10th inning with Travis Ishikawa on first. Uribe swung hard at the first two pitches he saw, missing both by a mile. Not so the third pitch—Uribe hit it hard and deep to left, where it landed in the bleachers amid deliriously happy Giants fans. Final score: Giants 4, Dodgers 2.

Huh? Four runs? It was the bottom (home) half of the inning, and Ishikawa crossing the plate should have been the winning run, making the final score Giants 3, Dodgers 2, right? So what's with that fourth run? Did the Dodgers have three runs, not just two? Nope; box score showed 2-2. Quick! Check the Baseball Field Guide (a present from Pica and Numenius on my becoming bat mitzvah). And there it was, the exception to the rule that when the score is tied in the bottom half of the inning, the inning ends as soon as the run that puts the team ahead crosses the plate. Except when the game ends with a winning home run—aka a "walk-off." Then all of the runners ahead of the home-run hitter, and the hitter, himself, score. Thus, Giants 4, Dodgers 2.

There's always something new for me to learn about baseball, and the win made the learning sweet. Baseball rules!

Good teams are hard to beat

And whatever one may think of the Dodgers (and as a Giants fan, my opinion should be self-evident), it's undeniable that they are a damned good team. Every single man in tonight's lineup can hurt you, and most of them did, including the pitcher, who has so far not only held us to one run on three hits but got a hit of his own. First in hitting, second in pitching, third in defense in the National League . . . let's face it, what other team deserves to win the pennant? Certainly not the Giants, love them though I do, fiercely and happily. Terrific potential, plenty of youthful energy and joie de vivre, arguably the two best pitchers in the Majors, but the cohesion isn't there yet. Next year, maybe; almost certainly. But for now, it's good just to see these surprising kids play. But a 9-1 loss is tough to watch, especially to the Dodgers.

More buckaroo pix

A few more images from my visit with Heather . . .

Living room:

Tiny cowboy boots:

I had a Hopalong Cassidy thermos and lunchbox when I was 8 years old:

Bathroom:

I think this is my favorite—a teeny-tiny cowboy shirt.

Baseball, buckaroos, ferry boats and friends

A great two days in the Bay Area. Two Giants games! I went to Friday night's game with Heather, whom I met back in May on BART on the way to another game. After exchanging numerous e-mails these past few months, we finally spent some "face time" together, talking baseball, learning a bit about each other's lives. (In addition to baseball in general and the Giants in particular, Heather's two big passions are cowboys and gardening; her landscaping business is called "Buckaroo Gardening." She has tons of cowboy-obelia; check out this lamp . . .

We had a great time at the game, the only downside being the Giants' meltdown in the 8th inning, leading to a loss. Should have known something weird would happen with a moon like this one . . .


Saturday, another game, this one with Pica and Numenius, and this time got a win. Waiting for the ferry to take us back to Vallejo and home, ran into John and Jim, two friends with whom I went to a Giants game years ago, back in Candlestick days; that day, we'd taken the ferry from Jack London Square. Stood out on deck with them, in the wind and the salt spray, til we arrived in Vallejo.

Gathering my gear back downstairs and about to disembark, a woman approached me. "Are you Barbara? I'm Wendy Hammond." Wendy Hammond?! Holy cow. Wendy and I worked together a good 35 years ago in Shields Library, and I probably haven't seen her in 30 of those years. Funny thing is, I was looking for her on Facebook not a week ago. True story, cross my heart. I have no idea how these things happen, but that they do is certain sure.

Good friends, good baseball, good times, good memories. I feel pretty darned lucky.

Invasion of the padded people

Summertime is baseball time, the time when teams that are in the hunt for the playoffs (and their fans) begin to kinda maybe sorta believe that this year could be The Year. Why, then, here in the early days of August, when the Giants have been playing well (even on the road!) and have added a couple of new bats to the lineup, why, I ask you, are the KNBR morning guys talking about football? Interviewing Oakland Raiders second round draft picks, heading to Napa for a visit to the Raiders training camp . . . no, no, no. Football is for the fall, mid-September at the earliest, better October, when OK, the World Series is being played but the season is winding down and it's OK to have That Other Popular Sport step in to take up TV time and space on the sports page. But geez, even this morning's New York Times devoted a full page to the Giants (the football ones).

It didn't used to be this way. The lineup went like this: Summer, baseball; fall, football; winter, basketball; spring, swimming, water polo, track and field, whatever other non-baseball sports they could cram into the short period before spring training begins and baseball starts anew. But not now, oh no. Now we have football talked about late in July. Basketball goes on forever. Really, forever; their playoff season is just shy of the 100 years war.

It's not that I don't like other sports; I do. And when the Olympics come around, I'm riveted to the television coverage, be it winter or summer games. And I can appreciate the skill and physical stamina required to be a wide receiver for an NFL team. But I don't want to watch football, either in person or on TV. What I really don't like about football in August, though, is that it reminds me of how soon the baseball season will draw to a close, bringing with it the annual need to go through the painful withdrawal symptoms—no game broadcast, no postgame wrap, no Kruk and Kuip on the KNBR morning show, no anticipation of a well-pitched game, a great catch up against the wall, a home run hit into McCovey Cove, another trip to the ballpark where all that matters is runs, hits, errors, the final score. Baseball movies help a bit, but only a bit; there's nothing like the real thing.

Le Tour

The closest I've ever come to riding anything remotely resembling the Tour de France (and bear in mind that "remotely" is the operative word here; "remotely" as in "not even close") was a three-week, 1,000-mile tour I did in 1988. We rode from West Yellowstone to Jasper, Alberta, averaging more than 80 miles a day, riding over Logan Pass in Glacier National Park and up through the Canadian Rockies. Plenty of climbing, plenty of altitude. Throw in the couple of times I rode the Tour of the California Alps (aka the Death Ride) for high mountains under time constraints, and there you have it.

I'm not a fast climber, not even a particularly fast rider. Despite that, and despite my paltry riding experience compared to Tour riders, when I watch the peloton snake through the countryside, or the riders in the breakaway attack on a mountain, I experience it not just visually but viscerally. No matter the discrepancy in age, strength, training, experience between me and Team Astana, my body has a cellular memory of what it felt like to push the pedals over and over and over, grinding over a hill when it's hot, staying in the saddle and on the bike when I've been tired and dehydrated and wishing it were over, but staying the course.

Tomorrow, Mont Ventoux. Bonne route to all!

Goodbye, Walter

Walter Cronkite, 1917-2009
"And that's the way it is."

An exceptional journalist, an honest, dignified, intelligent, decent man, who helped millions of Americans, me included, interpret our world. Gratitude abounds; thank you, Uncle Walter, for sharing it with us.

Confirmation testimony we'd like to hear

Random Republican senator: "Judge Sotomayor, will your ethnicity allow you to be an impartial Supreme Court justice?"

Sonia Sotomayor: "Senator, my ethnicity will not have any more bearing on my decisions than my fellow justices' ethnicity has on theirs."

Independence Day

The 4th of July is my favorite holiday. It's nondenominational, nonsectarian, nonreligious, and, in Davis, it's a community celebration. All day long, there's stuff going on—Little League pancake breakfast, softball tournament, the kiddie parade featuring tiny children riding their crepe paper-decorated trikes, the fireworks in the park, and, downtown, the bike club's annual criterium, where I worked this morning from 6 o'clock until 8. After my corner marshaling shift was done, I went to the farmers' market, where I bought tomatoes, basil, nectarines, blackberries, yellow corn, dino kale, curly parsley and what Jim Eldon at Fiddler's Green Farm dubbed "cosmic" carrots:


The inside is a surprise, too:

Walked back downtown, met Stu and Linda for lunch at Bernardo's where we sat outside and watched the women's race while we ate. Then home to listen to the Giants beat the Astros 9-0 (a nice follow-up to last night's 13-zip Giants win) while kind of more-or-less napping. Don't know what I'll do later on; some bike club friends are hosting a Tour de France watching gathering around 8, so I may head over there. Word has it that the fireworks are visible from the end of their street. Or I may just stay home; sometimes, if they shoot them high enough, I can see the fireworks from my deck.

The power! The passion! The produce!

Robin and I took a road trip to Oroville on Saturday. Stated purpose, to meet with the owners of the fitness center that will be one of the controls on the upcoming Davis Bike Club's Gold Rush Randonnee. Not-so-hidden agenda purpose, all those produce stands along Hwy. 70.

Not much to say about Oroville except that it's original downtown appeared utterly deserted. Storefronts vacant, the only open shops a couple of antique stores, the only lively appearing human a skateboarder taking advantage of the empty streets. The name of the business center kind of says it all . . .

Time to leave. On to . . .

!

!!

!!!

First stop, a smallm open-front stand, where we netted some blackberries, cherries, lemon cukes and cherry tomatoes.

Then we found Tony's, clearly the winner in both produce and ambience . . .

Tomatoes, nectarines (yellow and white), peaches (ditto), cukes, jams, olive oil, berries, potatoes, corn, melons, and Tony's famous sweet red onions . . .

Definitely sweet!

(N.B.: The corn, we were told, is trucked in from Dixon. What this implies about other items at Tony's is anybody's guess, but for sure the tree crops are local; we saw the trees.)

Robin's haul

. . . and mine

Don't buy more than you can carry!

So far, the tasting experience has been as good as the shopping experience. This may have to become a regular road trip.

Stars and stripes

Today is Flag Day. Back in the late '60s and into the '70s, the American flag became hugely politicized, with the left scorning it and the right wrapping itself in it. As someone who has always loved my country's flag, I found myself hesitating to say so, fearing the label of "hawk" or "super-patriot." But several years ago, during George W. Bush's tragic reign, I decided to reclaim my flag. I bought one, and on patriotic holidays, I fly it at the front of my house. I like its crisp red and white stripes, I like the blue field with those white stars, one for each of the 50 states, and as I put it in its holder I think about what my country has given me, what it offered my immigrant grandparents, and the hope this grand experiment holds for my granddaughters and the world. Flawed? Sure. But all I have to do is consider whom this country chose as its president this past November, and I take heart. Three cheers for the red, white and blue.

Reading baseball

I'm reading three books about baseball (while I'm not actually watching, that is). One is OK, one is good (and a keeper) and one is terrific (and also a keeper).


The OK one is Ron Darling's The Complete Game: Reflections on Baseball, Pitching and Life on the Mound. Darling is the former Mets pitcher, now a broadcaster for SportsNet New York. To give the reader the "feel" of the pitching experience, Darling organized his book using specific innings of games in which he was the starting pitcher. So, for instance, Ch. 1 describes the first inning of his first major league start, against the Phillies on Sept. 6, 1983; Ch. 2 is Game 4 of The 1986 World Series, Mets vs. the Red Sox; etc. The intro chapters (before we got to actual games) were so-so, but it's improving, and the descriptions of Darling's game-day preparation (he took a nap just before going out to warm up) are interesting. How these guys handle the pressure is mind-boggling to me.

The second book is called Watching Baseball Smarter, by Zack Hample. (Hample's other claim to fame is having grabbed more than 3,000 baseballs from major league games, including Bonds' 724th home-run baseball; his first book is titled How to Snag Major League Baseballs.) He's played professional ball himself, which gives him street cred to describe various aspects of the game, from the different grips pitchers use and the effect each has on a pitched ball to details about fielding, base running, and the answer to the question all baseball fans ask: Why do those guys grab their crotches all the time? (Ans: Those cups are uncomfortable, dammit!) Hample includes a glossary of terms, which are italicized in the text, so you can look stuff up as you read, or just read the glossary through all at once. It's a good dip-into book while watching a game and some play is a new one on me or Mike Kruko uses a term I haven't heard before. (This book was recommended to me by Heather Hafleigh, with whom I've been having an e-mail conversation about baseball in general and the Giants in particular.)

The best one, though, is As They See 'Em: A Fan's Travels in the Land of Umpires, by Bruce Weber. Weber is a reporter for The New York Times, and he brings the same clear, well-written, literate style of that newspaper to this book. I'd recently become intrigued by the enigmatic nature of the umpire, curious about not only the nuts and bolts of umpiring but what motivates a man (the female umpire is rare beyond rare) to want to be one in the first place. Weber interviewed dozens of current and former umpires, players, managers, and Major League baseball execs, and also trained as an umpire, after which he spent a season working games, from Little League to Spring Training. ("Just about the first thing they teach you at umpire school is ow to yank your mask off without upsetting your hat." Talk about your great lead . . . .) I checked this out from the library, but it's too good to let go of, so I've decided to buy it, to have the time to read it at a slow, delicious pace. Get this book; it's good.

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.