Colin's Character

As a society, we are so much more comfortable when people, places and things fit in their designated roles. Summer is supposed to be warm, winter is supposed to be cold. Rabbits are supposed to be fast, turtles are supposed to be slow. Boys are supposed to like sports, girls are supposed to like fashion. Cartoon heroes are supposed to be good looking and have good hair, cartoon villains are supposed to be scary looking and have horns or something. “Good guy” athletes are supposed to be clean cut and say all of the right things, “bad guy” athletes are supposed to be those with a lot of tattoos and big egos. Don’t ask, don’t question, that’s just how it is. Period. Except when it’s not.

Colin Kaepernick, the starting quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers is a “bad guy athlete” straight out of central casting. He only speaks to the media when he absolutely has to, and even then he never says much. He is unwaveringly confident in his abilities as an elite NFL quarterback. He has tattoos covering his body. He parties, has dated multiple women, and likes to post pictures of himself, and his abs, on social media. I shudder at the thought of the horrible person he must be even typing these words. Except- he prefers to let his performance speak for him. His confidence is what helped him get to the NFL and helps make him an elite quarterback (one who has lead his team to two straight NFC Championship Games in as many seasons as starting QB). He is a man of Faith and his tattoos are an outward representation of that. He is a single, 26 year old man, who is living his personal life similarly to most other single, 26 year old men (key word being personal). Our collective disapproval of Kaepernick and his choices don’t make him a bad guy. In fact, if we took a closer look, I think we’d find that the exact opposite is true.

Now, please don’t get me wrong, there is plenty about Colin that I don’t like. His inability to read a progression, his habit of throwing fade route passes a couple yards too short and a couple feet too low (one, in particular, comes to mind immediately), his penchant for wearing the colors of other NFL teams. It’s all absolutely maddening. None of it, however, changes his work ethic, or his skills, or his character.

We don’t have to like Kap, or agree with his personal choices, or even root for him or his team, but we do owe him our respect. Let’s remember that before we gang up on him, or any other, assuming guilt in very serious accusations simply based on how we’ve typecast them. It would all fit so much more easily if CK7 were just another punk kid, but that simply doesn’t make it so.

C

P.S.- Go Niners!

He’s Baaaaackkkk

Remember the time it would have been all but impossible to believe that Barry Bonds would ever not be a part of the institution of Major League Baseball? Remember the time when it would have been all but impossible to believe that the MLB, and specifically the San Francisco Giants, would ever allow Barry Bonds be a part of the organization in any official capacity? The man who captivated the world with his dominance at the plate, a once in a lifetime race to break an until then forever untouched record, and the man who also happens to be the Godson of baseball royalty, also happens to be the man who became the biggest disgrace to all of it. And guess what, he’s baaacckk!

It has just been announced that the man, the myth, the legend (as it were), Barry Lamar Bonds will be a special instructor for the San Francisco Giants during their spring camp this year.

Special indeed. Barry is such a Jekyll and Hyde. On one side, he has always been a bright eyed student of the game. A player who, while being blessed with all of the physical talent and baseball acumen available in 1964, never seemed to stop studying the game. He was never satisfied and was continually striving, working to be even better. However, your greatest strength can also be your greatest weakness, and that same drive could be exactly what lead Bonds to sell his soul to the devil, err Stan Conte. Enter Mr. Hyde. On his other side, #25 became obsessed with the accolades, with the attention, with the individual celebrations that follow any player who even comes close to threatening one of baseball’s longest standing records. It was seemingly no longer about the love of the game and the desire to be great, it was instead all about Barry becoming the man, the player, the one and only.

Many love Barry’s Mr. Hyde. They love him for the pure entertainment, excitement and sparkle that he brought to the diamond. Baseball is a game, and he played it perfectly. No harm, no foul, enjoy the show. Many more, however, believe Bonds to be a cheat; a cheat who hijacked the game and turned it into his own personal parade. He could have been one of the greats, but instead of being the next Hank Aaron, he became the next Pete Rose.

Much like Rose, I truly believe that Bonds never considered the consequences. Correction: I truly believe Bonds never considered there would be consequences. Whether he was blinded by the flash of the cameras or by his own ego, I believe Bonds expected to ride off into the fall sunset, wearing his crown built by homeruns, the celebrated king, while a retirement filled with personal appearances and countless coaching opportunities awaited him. Mr. Hyde, your humble pie is ready.

It’s hard not to have this rush of emotion and anger come back upon hearing the news that he’s back, especially as a Giants Fan. Like a bad break up, baseball fans were left empty and without closure. For god sakes, Barry, just admit it already! It will feel so much better, for all of us. Having him back is a slap in the face reminder of how it was, The Barry Bonds Giants of San Francisco. Nonetheless, all of the above does not take away the fact that Bonds’ approach and eye at the plate are that of baseball lore. To say that he has nothing to teach this team of Giants would just be a blind dumb lie. My hope is that Barry takes this opportunity given to him to start anew and perhaps even repent. I do believe in second chances. I know he misses the game, it’s who he is. I hope that he comes back to it that eager and excited Dr. Jekyll version of himself realizing that as much as he has to teach the young players of today, there is so much more that they have to teach him.

Welcome back, #25. Please don’t make me regret saying that.

Go Giants!

C

P.S. Before all of our smurf colored friends work themselves into a tizzy over this, allow me to remind you that your official, on the payroll, hitting coach is the Godfather of this shameful PED family. 

Life Without Brian

Earlier this week, ESPN reported that Romeo emancipated himself from the Montegues and that the Capulets adopted him and became his legal guardians. Wait, no, that’s just what it felt like when ESPN reported that Brian Wilson (RHP) accepted and signed a minor league deal with the Los Angeles Dodgers. Brian Wilson, a Dodger. Sigh. I’m not hurt, I’m just disappointed.

Brian Wilson was more than just our closer.

On the field, he was a homegrown talent, drafted by the Giants in the 24^th round of the 2003 amateur baseball draft. He was the guy who we called on time after time, via Bruce Bochy, at the end of the game to close it out for us and save the W. He often made that 9^th inning far too exciting, and far too dramatic, than was ever necessary, but more often than not he got the job done in a way that only he could. When the show was over, he’d turn around and pay tribute to his father, while the rest of us paid our own tribute to him and the rest of our boys.

Off the field, he was the guy who would roll up to the Starbucks on Chestnut in his blacked out Mercedes, wearing an outfit that could only be described as part army surplus, part Zac Brown, and would sit outside shooting the breeze with the other locals. Solving all of the world’s problems, no doubt. Wilson was the face of the “torture”, the lead “misfit”, the bearded eccentricity that didn’t make sense to anyone outside of San Francisco, but somehow fit perfectly in the City by the Bay. Torturous saves, the most entertaining media interviews ever, coined phrases, fake beards, a spandex tuxedo, “Fear the Beard” t-shirts, and the first World Series Championship, ever, in San Francisco. BWilly was our guy- and then he wasn’t.

The stints on the DL began soon after that glorious, glorious 2010 season. Short, at first, and then longer and longer, until, a year later, it was finally concluded that Willy needed his second career Tommy John surgery. Out for the season, out for the remainder of his contract. When the time came, the Giants offered Wilson an incentive filled contract to stay with the team. Fresh off of 2 seasons in which he didn’t pitch more than a couple consecutive games, and of having his arm completely reconstructed, for the second time, Brian deemed the contract “insulting”. He was offended that the organization would offer him such a low base and incentive payments based on playing time after all that he had done for the team. Apparently, Brian had already forgotten about the previous two seasons in which he had essentially been paid for being the team mascot. Forgotten that the team drafted him after his first Tommy John surgery, stuck with him through his struggles in the minor leagues, and through his various oblique and arm injuries in the following years. Forgotten that the team had just brought home its second Commissioner’s Trophy in three years, this time without him. Robb Nen thanked the organization for showing him the same loyalty he had shown them, Brian Wilson announced that he wanted to become a Dodger.

Purposeful message received, #38. I suppose not everyone can be the great Kirby Puckett. Say hey to Jason Schmidt and Juan Uribe for us. I hope you enjoy L.A. as much as they have. I hope the city and the fans show you as much love and pride in who you are both on and off the field as we did. No, I hope they show you more. Because, you can’t come home again.

Too much awesome?? Please. Not nearly enough.

C