Thank you, #75.

Earlier this week, the San Francisco Giants quietly placed Barry Zito (LHP) on waivers. Quietly, Zito cleared waivers and is now available to be traded. Barry Zito’s career in San Francisco, and possibly his career period, is quietly coming to a close.

Thank you, Barry Zito.

No, seriously, hear me out. Barry Zito, the left-handed pitcher who was a 3 time All-Star, the 2002 AL Cy Young Award winner and had an average ERA of 3.49 in his 7 years as an Oakland Athletic. Barry Zito who then signed a 7 year, $126 million, deal with his once Bay Bridge rivals, making him the highest paid major league pitcher at the time. In his 6 full seasons with the Giants since signing that monster contract, Barry Zito is a zero time All-Star, a zero time Cy Young Award Winner and boasts an average ERA of 4.65. Barry Zito and San Francisco Giants fans- the very definition of a love/hate relationship. Let’s be honest, the emphasis has most certainly been on the hate.

We all know the storyline and how it played out. The Giants, in 2007 when Zito joined the team, were 5 years removed from completely blowing it in the World Series against the Angels (no, I still don’t want to talk about it), 4 years removed from their last playoff appearance, and were desperately searching for some star power (ok, a lot of star power) to replace the other Barry’s, who’s power had been reduced to a sad “pow” at that point. With Bonds’ career all but over, the Giants’ brass- ahem, Peter Magowan- decided that Zito was the answer, the second coming of the Barry, if you will, and put all of its eggs, pennies, pebbles, marbles, and anything else that they could find, into his basket. To say that actuality fell short of expectations and hope would be a gross understatement, but we all already know that. What we don’t know, or perhaps fail to realize or appreciate, is that Barry Zito maneuvered his way through the last 7 tumultuous seasons with absolute grace.

Not once did he speak badly about his coaches or teammates. When the team made that all but impossible late season run in 2010, winning 20 of their last 40 games, to make the playoffs, Zito was left off of the post season roster. Left off the roster! I urge you to take a look at the tape from the end of each of the games that postseason and pay special attention to the first person out of the dugout and on to the field to congratulate and celebrate.

Not once did Zito complain about the way he was treated by the city and the fans. We heckled him, we booed him, we jeered him, we did just about everything short of spitting in his face and threatening his family- and you know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that did in fact happen. The night Jonathan Sanchez threw a no-no against the Padres, I was on my way out to celebrate with the rest of the city and happened to walk passed a liquor store on Chestnut, the same liquor store that Barry Zito happened to be stocking up on supplies for his own post-game activities. Just as I walked passed, a model Giants fan walked in and screamed “Barry Zito that is the closest you’ll EVER get to a no hitter.” I stopped in my tracks, cringed, and waited. You know what Zito did? He looked at that jackass, smiled, and said “Go Giants”.

He has embraced his community and used his platform and celebrity for good. In 2005, he founded Strikeouts for Troops (http://strikeoutsfortroops.org/), an organization that supports injured military members and their families, and provides the comforts of home to military families as their loved ones fight to keep us comfortable and safe. An organization that now has the support of over 100 players and managers, giving back to those who give their all for all of us. Equally as impactful, a friend and I happened into All Star Donuts on Chestnut Street one evening (morning?) sometime past midnight (never you mind why we might have been at a donut shop so late). Z and his fiancé, now wife, were at the counter in front of us. When the cashier recognized him, she turned around, grabbed a bunch of baseballs and asked him to sign them. Without skipping a beat, he took the pen and the first ball and began signing, stopping only to turn around to apologize to us for the holdup.

Thank you, #75. Thank you for being a model teammate and a gentleman. Thank you for embracing us even when no one would have blamed you had you fired right back at all of it. I am sorry it has taken us so long to appreciate you, but thank you for being one of the best guys to wear this uniform. And, especially, thank you for Game 4 of the 2012 NLDS and Game 5 of the 2012 NLCS.

C

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

FINALLY!!

You know that feeling of pure frustration when you spend what seems like an eternity trying to explain something to someone, but no matter how many different ways to you try to explain it, no matter how many different angles you take, no matter how loud you get or how big your arm motions become, they just do not see what you see? Then- the feeling of absolute victory and vindication in the exact moment their eyes light up and they utter the phrase “Ohhh, yeah!!”?! No two feelings could sum more perfectly my emotions toward PED use in MLB and, more specifically, the reactions of the players to the admitted and the outed cheaters. Finally.

Finally the players, the clean players, are starting to get fed up. Finally they’re coming forward to publicly and vocally express their anger and feelings of betrayal. WHAT took them so long? I refuse, absolutely refuse, to believe that everyone in the League is dirty. No shot. So, why now? What about this situation, and this cheater, in particular has those who play the game purely so outraged that they’re breaking their silence and speaking out? Two words- The Code.

The tales of use of Performance Enhancing Drugs in Major League Baseball, in all of its levels, are just about as old as time. I truly find it difficult to remember a time when steroids were not a part of the MLB storyline. I can name more admitted and rumored PED cheaters off the top of my head, than I can U.S. Presidents. Bonds, McGuire, Giambi, Palmeiro, Ramirez, Cabrera, Canseco, Clemens, Rodriquez, and on and on and on. Oh, yeah, and Ryan Braun, too. Yet, not until this Braun character did the fraternity comprised of current and former Major League players seem to really notice, let alone care. The difference is that Ryan Braun made it personal. Rafael Palmeiro may have wagged his finger in the face of Congress while adamantly maintaining his innocence; Braun wagged his in the face of his brothers. Can you say “no, no”?

Braun pranced through the league like The Pied Piper of clean play, piping his song of innocence and injustice, recruiting and gathering followers and supporters along the way. Braun’s tune was so sweet that even the weariest seemed to buy the story his lyrics told. I have come to peace with the fact that I will never understand why; the flaw in the sample transporting process that his overpriced team of attorneys found and turned into a loophole and upheld appeal didn’t also miraculously turn the sample from positive to negative.  Alas, I digress. Braun led his army of believers and together they stormed the Capital, err Commissioner’s Office, fighting for the wrongly accused. There was just one problem; the Emperor wasn’t wearing any clothes.

I may be mixing my childhood fables, but the facts remain- Ryan Braun played everyone. Curt Schilling “feels betrayed”. Matt Kemp, who came in second to Braun in the NL MVP voting in 2011, is “disappointed” and “considered [Braun] a friend”, and also believes his MVP award should be taken away. Aaron Rodgers, who shares the Wisconsin stage with Braun, is partnered with him in a restaurant, and considers him his “best athlete friend”, wagered his entire 2013 salary via Twitter that his bestie was clean. Here’s a pretty solid rule to live by, guys- don’t leverage your character on someone unless you’re absolutely sure of theirs. Lesson learned. Time to right the wrong.

Braun had one thing right- there are those who deserve a voice, who deserve a chance. The players in farm systems across the country, playing in front of no one and living on Ramen noodles to survive while they work as hard as they possibly can, and harder, to realize their dream of making it to The Bigs. Not to mention, the players who have made it, who are realizing their dream, thanks to hard work and dedication, without taking short cuts, who are being robbed of stats, of awards, of their legacy.  

The Institution of Baseball has a fighting chance to get clean if the players police themselves. Nobody likes a rat, and The Code, though unwritten, explicitly states that tattle telling is a clear violation, but the betrayal of your brothers is a much, much worse offense. It’s time. Finally.

C

P.S. Special shout out to Brett Pill (@PillzRgood) who is a first baseman playing for the San Francisco Giants’ AAA affiliate, the Fresno Grizzlies. And who also happens to be my new hero. If I ever create a Twitter handle, he will undoubtedly be my first follow.

Ryan Braun, PED's and Blue Skies

Ryan Braun lied. Ryan Braun is a cheater. And in other news, the sky is blue.

It is just about as shocking to me that Ryan Braun lied about being clean as I am that the sun rose in the east this morning. Why wouldn’t he? There is no downside, no real consequence either way. At the end of the day, Braun is just the next in a long, seemingly never ending, line of professional athletes who use, and subsequently lie about using, Performance Enhancing Drugs (PED’s). Ryan Braun isn’t the problem; he is a product, the result, of the problem. It is time to address the elephant in the room- the root of the PED epidemic in Baseball.

Major League Baseball, in particular, has created a culture that not only fosters, but encourages, the use of PED’s. Yep, I said it. Whether this culture was created knowingly and purposefully, or whether it is the byproduct of a campaign to do anything possible to save Baseball from itself after the ’94 strike, I can’t say and we may never know. It almost doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this epidemic is a runaway train that lost its brakes hundreds of miles ago. It has gotten so out of control, and so beyond itself, that one could fairly easily argue that players in the Major League system, at any level, are stupid not to juice else risk losing their job to someone who does, or worse- never get the job in the first place. Think about that, MLB has created a league in which players are putting themselves at a huge disadvantage if they DON’T cheat. Bueller?!

The worst part of all of this is that somewhere along the way, we lost the game. The game as we knew it, America’s pastime, has become completely unrecognizable and, instead, we’re left with the love child of MLB The Show and the WWE. For shame. The only way any of this is going to change is if the consequences of PED use become greater than the contracts, dollars and infamy the competitive advantage their use affords. Give me a break with the 50 and 100 game suspensions. Why not just give known offenders a tropical vacation and a welcome back bash upon their return? If you’d have told me in High School that the consequences for being caught cheating were a 5 day suspension for the first offense and a 10 day suspension for the second offense, after which I’d be welcomed back to class with the grade my cheating earned me fully intact, you’d better believe I’d have been a 4.0 student with a few multiple day vacations. The only way to clean up the game and to restore it anywhere close to its glory, is if being caught hits cheaters where it matters- in their pocket books and in their legacies. Wipe their numbers from the record books and ban them from the game they claim to love. Aggressive? I’d bet those Major Leaguers who do play the game cleanly don’t think so.

Baseball, in its purest form, is a wonderful game. A game that transcends generations, age, and nationality, and if this latest scandal has taught us anything, it’s that it is time to stop paying lip service to cleaning up the game, and to actually do it.

C

PS- Aaron Rodgers, if you were going to reprise the role of Squints Palledorous from the Sandlot, I hope Benny at least hooked you up with a new pair of PF Flyers.

Kaep, Kaep, Cap

Colin. Ohhhh, Colin. You whacky funster, you. You didn’t really think your sporting of another NFL franchise's colors was going to go unnoticed, did you?!

Please, allow me to put this into some context for you. You are the starting quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers. I’m going to go ahead and pause briefly to really allow that to sink in. The San Francisco 49ers. The Franchise with 5 Super Bowl rings and 6 Super Bowl appearances. I’ll ignore, for a moment, the fact that our one Super Bowl loss (yes, our) was on your watch. The Franchise that boasts the likes of Joe, Jerry, Steve, Ronnie, Brent, Kenny, Carmen, Eddie and Bill. Men who don’t even require two names when referring to them. A Franchise with more history, more winning history, than most NFL Franchises, nay, most Sports Franchises. That kind of history breeds a strong, rich fan base filled with die-hards who will gladly sacrifice themselves at the altar of the football gods for their team and its players. So, for many, seeing pictures of their franchise QB, the face of their team, rocking the “swag” of a different team (read: enemy) feels like a rather large, Benedict Arnold style, slap in the face. Quick question, did  you ever wear a Colorado State hat while you were at Nevada? UNLV? San Diego State?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I, personally, don’t actually care what you wear when you’re not on the field. I understand that the hat matched your shoes, or whatever, and I’m sure you looked fabulous. I care more about how hard you grind for the team, and how you perform when it matters. That being said, I also care about how you treat us, Niner fans, your fans. Rolling your eyes in the form of an Instagram post telling us that you don’t care what we think probably wasn’t the best way to respond. Slap in the face, #2. We are accustomed to QB geniuses like Montana and Young. Again, I’ll allow that to sink in. And while we love, respect, and are behind you 1165464343%, you’ve still got some filling out to do in those rather large shoes before you start wagging your finger at us (please see: Niners’ Super Bowl Loss), capish?!

Like it, or not, you’re in the public eye now; every thing you do and every move you make, and judging by my most recent ESPN The Mag, you like it. You are a San Francisco 49er. How cool is that?! Be one we’re proud of.

Alrighty, #7. Good talk. Kill it in camp and get our boys ready for the season. Niner Nation will be ready, tickets in hand and Niner caps on.

GO NINERS!

C

P.S. Did that Brewers hat you wore during the pre-Super Bowl ESPN interview match your shoes, too? Or was that more purposeful?