So long Lucky Penny and Tim Lincecum: San Francisco has, at last, surrendered the remainder of its soul

Farewell to that feeling of invincibility and impossibility mixed with the threat of invisibility and impoverishment. Isn’t that, after all, what great cities are made of?

By Andrew Pridgen

A pair of San Francisco landmarks worth knowing are closing down and leaving town for good this month. They are, Tim Lincecum and the Lucky Penny diner. Both were institutions. Both just got a part of you. Both worked for you 24-7.

They were the last of whatever sliver of your heart you left in San Francisco.

Were I to run into Tim Lincecum or the Lucky Penny late at night—and I did—I felt better about myself in the context of witnessing heights I could never reach and depths I could never mine. They were the best and the worst and the best of the worst.

The Lucky Penny is closing this week. Christmas Eve, in fact. It will be torn down to make way for 21 stupid fucking condos that will look obsolete five years after completion.

The corner of the Giants’ locker room that Lincecum singularly brought back to life after Bonds vacated has already been re-allocated. In December, the team introduced a pair of fully vested replacement righties with a bunch of hashtags: Jeff Samardzija and Johnny Cueto—almost a quarter billion dollars committed to suspect arms and end-of-career gambles—certainly did placate a majority sector of the faithful. Shiny lights twinkle bright only for so long. Then they become sale-rack items.

The Giants built their snow globe dynasty on the back of homegrown pitching talent. They are chasing now. This is what it looks like to patch cracks in the foundation with Silly Putty. When you engineer the blueprint for post-spendthrift/post steroid-era baseball, you are required to explore the nuance of the lean years; what you don’t do is borrow from the Steinbrenner playbook of the decade prior.

Someday, we’ll figure out again the alchemy of what makes cities desirable—and stick with that. It’s not open-air workspaces that placate a gelatinous younger-than-you-yet-harder-to-impress demographic. It’s not Victorians with the built-ins torn out like a bad carburetor in favor of industrial-sized kitchen sink basins. It’s not farm-to-table neighborhoods selling the soul of something prior per hour to the highest bidder. And it’s not the false comfort of convenience lighting up a black screen when all you really need is happening around you. It’s people, real people. Real places. Real experiences. But you already know that in the way you know what makes a Sofia Coppola film go by fast. It’s hard to define unless you’re watching it.

The last time I was at Lucky Penny, my buddy made out with a girl from the neighboring booth. They enjoyed pancakes and coffee on top of whatever other intake that resulted in ending up perfectly temporarily together; they kissed and tousled upon the torn green vinyl. What a beautiful mess. They kissed with intent as if they were junior high kids stealing a moment in the back of the wagon. It was low-lit and euphoric and fleeting. Fucking Baker Street was even playing on the overhead. Can you imagine how good it felt just to be part of that scene? I can. It felt fucking great. I went to bed that night smiling and I woke up head-scratching. All great diners are slide rules, using math to extend out the fallible moment.

I hope someday when we’re both a little older, I run into Tim Lincecum again. I hope we talk. I hope I get to buy him a beer not because I feel like I should but because he may gladly accept. I hope to spare him the narrative that is a constant in my mind; the summary of all the greats of my time, the ones who might not necessarily live in the memories of the collective: The Rich Aurilias, the Randy Winns, the Nate Schierholtzs. The Juan Uribes and the Pat Burrells. Lincecum was a superstar and statue-worthy for his flapping hair and his affable jack-o’-lantern grin symbolizes the most successful era of San Francisco baseball ever and ever will be. One thing Lincecum wasn’t was wholly comfortable as the human embodiment of the outsized statistics that marked the first half-decade of his career. The known fragility that bumped the Golden Spikes winner down to the middle of the first round knocked him out of the box before the seventh inning stretch of his career.

One evening, Lincecum appeared to my buddy and me at a bar just before 10 p.m. He became our third for the night. It was the spring prior to his rookie campaign. He was slight and angular like black-and-white Mary Tyler Moore. Doleful and misunderstood like early Vincent Gallo. He sat on our same bench but left the safety of a one-seat buffer. Mitch Kramer tried to go unnoticed but we ended up offering him a beer and then talking about music and not much else. No asks on either end. I’m sure he forgot the incident shortly after his last sip—it’s what happens. Professional athletes his caliber are often forced to stare down the tunnel and ponder whether that light at the end is from the sun or an oncoming train.

lincecumIIAfter our encounter, this all happened:

2007:

  • Lincecum went 4–0 with a 1.62 ERA his rookie year. On July 1, against the Arizona Diamondbacks, he struck out 12, the fourth highest total ever by a Giant.

2008:

  • Lincecum made the cover of the July 7, 2008, issue of Sports Illustrated and on July 6, he was selected to play in his first Major League Baseball All-Star Game.
  • On September 23, 2008, he broke Jason Schmidt’s single-season strikeout record with his 252nd strikeout of the season against Rockies. Lincecum finished the season with 265 strikeouts (54 of them three-pitch strikeouts, the most in the majors), making him the first San Francisco Giant pitcher to win the National League strikeout title.
  • On November 11, 2008, Lincecum was awarded the NL Cy Young Award, making him the second Giant to win the award. Mike McCormick was the first.

2009:

  • On June 2, Lincecum struck out the Washington Nationals’ Christian Guzman for his 500th career strikeout, becoming the fastest Giants pitcher in franchise history to reach the milestone.
  • In his six June starts, Lincecum went 4–1 with a 1.38 ERA and pitched three complete games. He was named the NL Pitcher of the Month for June.
  • In July, Lincecum made his second NL All-Star team. He was also the starting pitcher for the NL.
  • Through twenty starts in 2009 Lincecum had an 11–3 record with a 2.30 ERA, 183 strikeouts, four complete games, and two shutouts. Lincecum also had a twenty-nine scoreless inning streak.
  • On July 27, in a 4–2 win over the Pittsburgh Pirates at AT&T Park, Lincecum pitched a complete game and struck out a career-high fifteen batters (I was there, it was like watching a big kid play video games), the second most in San Francisco Giants franchise history.
  • On August 3, Lincecum was named National League Player of the Week.
  • On September 8, Lincecum missed his first start since coming up, making room for Madison Bumgarner who made his major league debut that day.
  • Lincecum finished the 2009 season with a 15–7 record, 2.48 ERA and 261 strikeouts.
  • Following the season, Lincecum was named Sporting News NL Pitcher of the Year for the second consecutive year and became the first pitcher in Major League Baseball history to be awarded the Cy Young in each of his first two full seasons.
  • On October 30 near Seattle, Lincecum was pulled over and cited for misdemeanor possession of marijuana, spawning the ‘Let Timmy Smoke’ movement and eventually paving the way for legalization in his home state of Washington.

2010:

  • On October 7, in his first postseason game, Lincecum pitched a complete game two-hit shutout, striking out a playoff career-high 14 batters, against the Atlanta Braves in game 1 of the NLDS. He broke the all-time record for strikeouts in Giants postseason history.
  • In his next postseason start, he pitched 7 innings and giving up 3 earned runs, while striking out 8 in the Giants’ 4–3 victory over the Phillies in Game 1 of the National League Championship Series.
  • In Game 6 on October 23, Lincecum pitched from the bullpen on one day’s rest at the bottom of the 8th. The Giants won the game 3–2, advancing to the 2010 World Series.
  • Lincecum pitched games 1 and 5 of the World Series, earning wins in both. Game 1 of the 2010 World Series was an 11–7 win over the Texas Rangers. On November 1, 2010, Lincecum started Game 5 of the World Series and pitched 8 innings, with 10 strikeouts while giving up only three hits en route to a 3–1 victory. The win ended the Giants’ 56-year championship drought and also gave San Francisco its first World Series title. Lincecum also set franchise single postseason records with four wins and 43 strikeouts by a right-handed pitcher.

2011:

  • In spite of the worst run support in all of baseball, Lincecum became the Giants’ franchise record holder for the number of games pitched with 10 or more strikeouts with 29, surpassing Hall of Fame “first five” inaugural member Christy Mathewson.
  • On May 21, Lincecum threw his 8th career complete game and his 5th career shutout against the Oakland Athletics.
  • On June 6, Lincecum recorded his 1,000th career strikeout against the Washington Nationals. He accomplished this during his fifth year as a pro. He was only 29 strikeouts short of passing Tom Seaver for having the most strikeouts in the first five seasons all-time.

2012:

  • Lincecum was converted to a relief pitcher in the 2012 MLB playoffs. And on October 7, Lincecum made a relief appearance during Game 2 of the 2012 National League Division Series (NLDS) against the Cincinnati Reds and threw two shutout innings.
  • On October 10, in Game 4 of the NLDS, Lincecum made a long relief appearance when his 4 1/3 innings helped the Giants beat the Cincinnati Reds to force a decisive Game 5. Lincecum was the winning pitcher.
  • Counting his start against Atlanta in the 2010 playoffs and his two relief appearances in 2012, Lincecum is 2–0 with an 0.59 ERA in the NL Division Series.
  • Lincecum helped the Giants win their second World Series in three years. In the series against Detroit, he struck out eight of the 16 batters he faced in relief.

2013-2015:

  • On July 13, 2013, Lincecum no-hit the San Diego Padres 9–0 at Petco Park. He struck out 13 batters, walked 4, and hit 1 while throwing a career-high 148 pitches. A little less than a year later, on June 25, 2014 he no-hit the Padres again.
  • On September 20, 2013 at Yankee Stadium, Lincecum K’d the New York Yankees’ Curtis Granderson for his 1,500th career strikeout.
  • In 32 starts in 2013, Lincecum went 10–14 with 15 quality starts and a 4.37 ERA, striking out 193 in 197.2 innings.
  • Lincecum was left off the playoff roster for the Giants’ third World Series title run in 2014 and was injured much of 2015, ending the season before his free agency with hip surgery.
  • The Giants bid farewell to Lincecum knowing for a half decade, between 2008 and 2011, he compiled 881 1/3 innings of 2.81 ERA pitching with 10.0 K/9 against 3.2 BB/9, he was not only the franchise’s, but the game’s GOAT.

Tim Lincecum’s model plane rubberband delivery and his one giant step for mankind lunge toward home was ultimately cut loose by time. This offseason, the Giants organization responded in kind and did what professional sports organizations do. They said goodbye without saying goodbye. As the team’s pilot fish, Lincecum furnished the Giants with the greatest quintet of pitching seasons in live ball history, if not ever. For that, he doesn’t get a parade or even a press conference. The 31-year-old gets to throw for scouts in January. It’s baseball’s cruel equivalent of asking Pacino to audition, forcing Garland to deliver a singing telegram or making Picasso paint a fence.

To paraphrase Hemingway, the Giants moved one dollar’s width to profitable with every dollar that they made off him. Even if everything to this point was marketed as emotional, Lincecum’s soon-to-be-former employers view the relationship with their ace emeritus as wholly transactional.

But that’s OK. People come and go. Diners come and go too. For every Tim Lincecum and Lucky Penny there was a Don Robinson and a Zim’s and a Lefty O’Doul and a Delmonico’s. Day by day we get older and we focus on how much better everything was yesterday, or at least how good the memory makes us feel. But when we stop living for the days to come, that’s when the bad stuff starts to happen. That’s when the physical you starts to abandon this endeavor and ease to dust like the memories and the monuments we hold so dear.

 

Pints and Picks Week 4: No bye week for bad bets

Each week DPB’s Kyle Magin and Andrew J. Pridgen will pour on the prose with Pints and Picks™. Who to wager and what to drink while doing it. Here then, is their point-counterpoint for Sept 27, 2014. Or, if you’re in the car, simply scroll down for the recap (they may be verbose, but it’s better than clicking through a slideshow).

AJ: Kyle, why are there bye weeks in college football? I mean, I get why they’re there in the NFL—basically an opportunity to get arrested in the club and for the league to fuck with fantasy owners who deserve to be fucked with. But there’s no reason for this in college other than maybe to see what FCS campus gets the biggest spike in date rape and frat house electronics raids over the idle weekend.

I only ask this because bye weeks in college used to not exist and now that they do, it brings an even bigger air of “professionalism” (air quotes) and indentured servitude to the amateur gridiron ranks. If the NCAA said, “We schedule bye weeks around midterms because academics” I’d be good with that. Happy even. But the real reason is to stretch out the post-season and turn college football into a 20-week endeavor (i.e. almost two-thirds the academic year) for the almighty bottom line—of which the athletes themselves see not a penny (and that’s where the lap top thefts come in).

Since you’re pretty good about finding out the why of things the way I’m good at identifying the season of Magnum PI (and episodes) where he tries to track down the ghost of his allegedly deceased wife, let me know if you know.

Otherwise, I take it now that you’re off the schneid you’re not taking a bye this week.

Me, I’m still trying to feel this week out like a Junior High dance. There’s no match up that stands out as a stone cold lock; and it has to be watchable to be (not a word: betable). <-One of my cardinal rules—the other is to never trust a Yelp reviewer whose mouth is wide open on their profile photo.

For now, a couple quick comments:

• Why is Wyoming traipsing around the country in pursuit of getting bitch-slapped? Is it like an anything-is-better-than-staying-home-and-risk-getting-shot-in-the-face-by-Dick-Cheney thing? First Oregon and now Michigan State? It kind of reminds me of those Pat Hill-era Fresno State teams which burned through their Southwest miles to go get rolled up by the SEC and ACC and Big-10 before limping back to the parched Valley and dominating, um, Wyoming …and most of the rest of the Mountain West. To be fair, Wyoming does have a slightly guttier squad than they originally got credit for (think corn snow-fed defense) and should give Sparty fits for at least a quarter or two. If you can get a first-half prop bet for the Cowboys at +10 or above, that’s better odds than your drunk-as-fuck out-of-town guest trying to pull a credit card advance on the gaming floor.

• Missouri on the road at South Carolina getting only 6.5. The Gamecocks are hotter than a rescue pit mix locked in a ’93 Aerostar in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly since forgetting Manziel was in the NFL and dropping their opener against Texas A&M. The Cocks have won three straight and Missouri is reeling from what should’ve amounted to a midweek January stumble on the hardcourt to the Hoosiers at home last week. Can Mizzou regroup or will South Carolina’s Mike Davis and Brandon Wilds harass QB Maty Mauk who already has four ints to go with 14 teeders …and, you know what, this spread sucks. Fuck this game.

…I’m going to pause right there and say I was running some errands with a buddy during the lunch hour today (he’s planning a birthday party for a one-year-old which basically means crappy burgers, a weird sheet cake that is actually just flypaper with white frosting and a couple of fifths because apparently one is too young to remember seeing your folks and their friends black out) and we ended up at Costco. Still $1.50 for a polish and a soda.

The thing is, we were the only sub-octagenarains dining there. All these Burns-postured McMurphys who’d escaped from “Serene Gardens” next door were gumming on these intestines and entrails pressed into a tube while gangsta leaning off their Rascals made me wonder: Do the old folks know something I don’t? Like, If I have one meal left, it’s gotta be Costco (because it is glorious, especially when you remember to ask for the slaw) or does it just kill a lot of time to try to gum down a dog the size of your shriveled and veiny neck midday on a weekday when you’re at the station of life when time, quite literally, can’t go any slower—and yet, you don’t have much of it left.

I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I just have a lot more questions than answers this week.

Kyle? You there? You still reading?

Kyle: AJ, the middle school dance analogy couldn’t be more apt. I have an overwhelming urge to skip this week completely and tell all of our readers I was off doing some really cool stuff. In reality, I’ll probably be reading Madeleine L’Engle and trying to stay up for MadTV and hope my father (who, coincidentally, is visiting this weekend) doesn’t come out and turn it off when they swear for like the only time in the whole show.

MadTV featured the stylings of Michael McDonald (not this one, not that one, this one), a USC alum, and that’s my segue into talking about one of the only games that probably matter this weekend. With no ranked matchups, it’s going to be interesting to watch Oregon State-SC (-9) in the sense that it’ll be interesting to see your neighbor walk out the door with his 14-year-old dog tomorrow. Hey, still on the right side of the dirt, eh Fido?

The 2-1 Trojans are a technically, I suppose, still in the playoff race. Stanford exposed SC’s inability to get anything done in the red zone with a run game that’s hampered when it doesn’t have room to breath in a game the Trojans won 13-10. Boston College pantsed SC’s run defense in a 37-31 victory on Chestnut Hill. Both of these tell me the men of Troy aren’t yet sound in their line play. Mike Riley’s Beavers aren’t very good at running the ball on aggregate—they’re 91st in rushing in the nation—but in the first quarter, few offenses are as effective at running and passing the ball as 3-0 Oregon State, who put up more points early (10.5) than every other team in the Pac 12 North. If they can kick the Trojans’ line in the teeth early, I think OSU Quarterback Sean Mannion can play keep-up with a very potent SC passing attack.

Surveying the rest of the college football landscape leaves that bye week to be desired.

American Conference favorite Cincinnati visits Ohio State as a 15.5-point dog, and that’s halfway intriguing. Looking at the rest of this schedule is sort of like looking at the area surrounding Charleton Heston after that ship crashed in the first Planet of the Apes. Guess we’ll have to get walking.

AJ: Kyle, nice call on bringing the pops to town during the week of bettors doldrums. Now, instead of sitting indoors and inhaling the second-hand smoke of the sports book, the two of you can ramble around the Sierras inhaling the first-hand smoke of arsonists.

I think we agree this is a trap week as far as NCAA wagering goes. None of the spreads seem at all enticing and, as you pointed out, the dearth of compelling matchups (besides conference-centric spoiler games like Stanford at U-Dub) make this the week to take a BCS breather—and set the crosshairs on October baseball.

Namely Mr. Magin, the prospect of four very disparate and very under-(over?)achieving-for-different-reasons West Coast franchises making it to the playoffs.

It’s a Freaky Friday moment for baseball West of Lovelock. You’ve got the perennial lovable A’s who went out and made a splash at the trade deadline, only to wallow in the second half like so much locker room sludge through the AL West with dead arms and a listless clubhouse en route to a wildcard berth.

You have the predictably unpredictable Giants across the bridge who had a fiery start and a nine-game lead in May only to lose two-time world champion aces Matt Cain from the starting five (still unknown injury) and Tim Lincecum (still undiagnosed velocity problems) but somehow picked up where Oakland left off and went not with the big trades but with the white-flag youth movement: Hunter Strickland, Chris Hesten, Erik Cordier and even skipper’s son Brett Bochy have all contributed on the mound. Back-up backstop Andrew Susac has been clutch off the bench and in spelling Buster Posey and infielders Joe Panik and Matt Duffy have been key contributors plugging the middle whilst performing at the plate. The suddenly youth-infused G-men didn’t have enough in the tank to catch the boys in blue with the quarter-billion-dollar payroll and the world’s greatest stadium, but they do have a good chance of beating the Pirates in the wildcard sudden-death scenario and finding themselves the object of Joe Buck’s scorn again.

In Southern California, it’s a battle of swollen payrolls and depleting expectations. The Halos, who had all but given up on The Last Investment Albert Pujols till he decided to come out of the orange groves and hit a respectable .273 with 28 bombs and 104 RBIS (and he’s not done yet). Mike Trout is baseball’s lone superstar right now and the singing cowboy’s starting rotation featuring innings eaters Jared Weaver (18-8, 3.52 ERA), CJ Wilson (13-10, 4.61 ERA) and Matt Shoemaker (16/4, 3.04 ERA) suddenly looks like baseball’s best even without the services of Garrett Richards (13-4, 2.61 ERA). The hedge fund-backed Dodgers’ have the best pitcher in baseball in Clayton Kershaw. The once-in-a-generation starter-next-door has mastery of three pitches usually thrown in a way three different pitchers might; fastball, 90-plus, a makes-you-swing-from-the-heels slider in the high-80s and an elevator curve in the mid-70s. It’s like facing vintage Barry Zito, Pedro Martinez and Greg Maddox—in one at-bat. Kershaw recently notched his 20th win, has an ERA under 1.80 and tosses 100-pitch complete game shutouts like Drysdale the get away afternoon after a Saturday night bender. Kershaw alone almost makes one forget that any player who came up under Castro thinks hitting the cut-off man is a Fredo Corleone reference.

You got your Tigs Kyle, but the prospect of not only an all West Coast World series, but LCSs makes me giggle. I know Fox shares Erin Andrews’ resting bitchface scowl when it comes to the knowledge that KC, not NY will be in the playoffs and Mr. Jeter’s farewell bonanza is but a week away from coming to a cleaned-out-locker and teary press conference halt. All that historic footage from the pre-device ’90s shelved for roll out at Cooperstown in 2020. And what the fuck will Ken “He shoulda been-a dentist” Rosenthal talk about as Buck cuts Harold Reynolds off on the cutaways with no DJ?

With that, I’d like to be a sort of World Series wager Sommelier. First off, like a fine wine, many teams age into BETTER odds of winning Bud Selig’s final Commissioner’s Trophy as the season matures. But like your great aunt’s Bradford Exchange plate collection, not all teams go up in value. At the start of the season the last-place Red Sox were 12/1 (ditto Rays). The aforementioned Yankees, who are now 300/1 to take a Champagne bath, started out at 14/1. The Orioles who started the season at 35/1 are now 13/2—not bad for a runaway division champ. And your Motor City hardballers are a solid 6/1. For my money though, I’m liking either the A’s or the Giants at 12/1 to bring the hardware back to the Biggedy. After all, Giants fans, it is an even-numbered year.

Kyle, I know you’re headed out the door to see nature’s splendor with the man who pulled you out of oblivion and plopped you on this big blue-infused chunk of spinning granite, but I KNOW you’re laying down your World Series picks this week… so, (Pacino voice) what’dya got?!

Kyle: AJ, I’ve never been more happy to talk baseball during betting season, a sport I usually avoid at the book like the plague. It will also grease the wheels of conversation with the old man while we’re waiting for his knees to stabilize after I drag him up a few thousand feet above his normal playing altitude.

I, too, think the road to the World Series is definitely coming through California. Too many hardball-related planets are aligning with the Golden State. Dave Stewart is LaRussa’s new lapdog in Arizona. Scully is back again next year! I found out, just this week, that they still have an MLB team in San Diego.

As a Tigers fan, I hate to say it, but the Los Angeles Angels of Disneyland at 9/2 to win the series is the best bet at the book. Jeff Weaver is a horse, Matt Shoemaker has walked one guy for every 9 he’s struck out since the break and Wade Leblanc hasn’t given up a run in his last two starts headed into the postseason. Everybody has been getting on in front of Albert Pujols and he’s been driving all of them in—he’s got roughly an RBI per game over the last month, while Mike Trout continues to ape Barry Bonds with his slugging prowess. Gordon Beckham and Howie Kendrick have gotten on-base as often as anyone in the league over the last month. There’s just no way I see someone getting around this time save some massive power outage from Pujols and Trout.

In the NL—and I know this won’t be popular with much of our readership—I like the Dodgers. I don’t love them at 9/5, but in the “who’s going to win this thing” sense, I think we’re geared up for a freeway series. Which, wow, Randy Newman is going to RAKE royalties from FOX. It’ll make Erin’s Dancing with the Stars schedule manageable—I won’t have to put up with her whiny-ass Instagram posts from a private jet about #grinding from coast to coast.

We’ll get some hoity-toity reminders from the New Yorker about all the poor-ass people who got bulldozed out of Chavez Ravine 60-plus years ago to make way for one of the top-five stadiums in baseball. It’ll be gross and engrossing, all at once.

The Dodgers’ Matt Kemp, Justin Turner, Carl Crawford and Scott Van Slyke have been hitting the living shit out the ball over the last month—all four are in the top-15 of OPS over that stretch. Even with Puig’s second-half power outage, I don’t see how anyone else keeps up with the boys in blue. Selig passes out his last trophy south of the Grapevine.

AJ: Gotta agree it may be Los Doyers’ year and hey that Randy Newman song was supposed to be ironic; like how big a shithole-where-small-town-dreams-go-to-die-with-a-gooey-tarpit-center LA is. It makes me laugh every time the Dodgers notch a W and it bounces off the Hollywood sign and into the night. I love it! I love it! I love it!

Oh, yeah, the Huskies are better than David Shaw’s listless and unproven farm squad. Take the dawgs and the 6 points against the Cardinal (at home!) for a share of the Pac-12 North lead.

The PnP Recap:

Last week:
AJ: 3-3
Kyle: 1-2

Overall:
AJ: 8-12
Kyle: 1-7

This week:
AJ:

• Washington +6 vs. Stanford
• SF Giants (or Oakland A’s) at 12/1 to win the World Series

Kyle:
• Oregon State +12.5 @ USC
• LA Dodgers (9/5) or LA Angels (9/2) to win the World Series

49er coach Harbaugh gets a date with his Manemy

The following column originally posted just after the 49ers Nov. 17 loss to the New Orleans Saints. The red and gold went on to win eight straight to set a date Sunday with division rival Seattle. Then, as now, we called for a Harbaugh/Carroll match-up to exercise the demon both men have — which is, the other.

49er head coach Jim Harbaugh left his displeasure over the game-costing penalty on linebacker Ahmad Brooks on the field Sunday. His very public attempt to bottle it is cause for pause and ponder and brought to light the most important question of his NFL coaching tenure to date:

Who, in fact, is coach Harbaugh’s Manemy?

A Manemy is the man you consider your equal, but is at once your rival. He may be operating in a different sphere or under different circumstance but you know he’s out there. You’re intrinsically if not famously aware of his actions as he is of yours.

Your Manemy is not your Bromance:
Bromances are lopsided relationships where one’s admiration and the other’s need to be admired turns to a skewed kind of friendship.

Your Manemy is not your consigliare: Though technically an advisory position, the consigliare is one who is appointed and can therefore be removed at any time (see: Tom Hagen’s diminished role in the second Godfather).

No, a Manemy is one who sees you from the opposite foxhole, recognizes your plight even as he pushes against you. And, if given the opportunity, would probably hear you out — and be heard …then destroy you.

That face-to-face, that one chance (and sometimes it is only one chance) to dump out all your …stuff to the only man who gets it, before he tries to dispatch of you, is more rare than finding a linear plot in a Harmony Korine flick.

Take James Bond. Though his rivals are only equaled by double entendre skanks he’s bedded, it was Dr. No that was his only true Manemy.

The pair were equals in wit:
Dr. No: Unfortunately I misjudged you. You are just a stupid policeman whose luck has run out.

Ideology/intellect:
Dr. No: SPECTRE. Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Revenge and Extortion. The four great cornerstones of power, headed by the greatest brains in the world.

Bond: Correction, criminal brains.

Dr. No: The successful criminal brain is always superior. It has to be.

Taste/worldliness:
Dr. No: That’s a Dom Pérignon ’55. It would be a pity to break it.

Bond: I prefer the ’53 myself.

Charming ideas and analysis:
Dr. No: A unique feat of engineering, if I may say so. I designed it myself. The glass is convex, ten inches thick, which accounts for the magnifying effect.

Bond: Minnows pretending they’re whales. Just like you on this island, Dr No.

…And polar opposites in philosophy; if a Manemy relationship could be distilled into one simple exchange, this would be it:
Bond: Your disregard for human life means you must be working for the East.
Dr. No: East, West – just points of the compass, each as stupid as the other.

Famous Manemy pairings throughout history far outnumber and outlast the yang of the Bromance.

After all, Bromances fade. Significant others become spouses and spouses become one half of a parental unit and the half-life of the Bromance does then recede into the ephemera. All the while, a labored search for a rival to become your Manemy can span years, decades, careers …lifetimes.

Not everyone is as lucky as, say, Jay and Conan, the squid and the whale, Clinton and George Bush Sr., Ali and Frazier, Sam Malone and Gary from Gary’s Old Town Tavern, Kasporov and Deep Blue and Chestnut and Kobiayashe — these folks faced their foes, the human embodiment of their existential crisis — looked into the endless reflection of self and inhaled the intoxicating vapor of the great nothing.

This is why Manemies are the most famous of all great loves. None moreso than the Greatest Manemy Pairing of all time: Neil McCauley and Lt. Vincent Hanna — criminal and cop in the seminal Manemy romantic comedy, Heat.

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I believe Pete Carroll is Harbaugh’s Manemy; both surly former Pac-10 (not 12, not yet) head coaches whose backgrounds are opposite swings of the pendulum.

The perfect splicing of the middle-aged white alpha Docker-and-mock-t gene.

Carroll grew up in the lily white mean streets of Marin County and Harbaugh as decidedly blue collar rust belt in Michigan as the media makes him out to be. Fiery adversaries for the West’s private institutions of record in USC and Stanford to division foes in perhaps the most underrated, or at least overlooked, division in all of professional sport — the NFC West.

Carroll even took a classic page from the Manemy playbook and uses one of Harbaugh’s cast-offs, cornerback Richard Sherman, who has labeled Harbaugh a bully outside the lines while leading his secondary to push around 9ers receivers within them — to do his dirty work.

Even the spouses are involved in this coil. Harbaugh’s wife says she “doesn’t like Seattle”, Carroll’s wife played volleyball for UoP back in the day and most likely thinks Seattle is much nicer than Stockton.

Harbaugh quotes Hootie. Carroll is a Deadhead.

They are one another’s Manemy manifested.

…And yet, despite the differences, Carroll surely watched with bemused empathy, as only one’s Manemy counterpart can, Harbaugh’s stomach-in-throat silence postgame Sunday.

The younger of the Harbaugh coaching clan was unable to speak mid-season on the duplicity of passers not eligible to be touched above the shoulders when in the pocket but eligible to taken down like a gazelle looking for a creek to cross when scrambling outside of it — because he’d already plead his case for increased protection of the quarterback before the season began.

Had Harbaugh had the benefit of a chance encounter with Carroll prior to his pre-season remarks, he probably could’ve both clarified his position and directed his disdain to his Manemy instead of Legolas-locked linebacker Clay Matthews:

“You’re hearing all the tough talk right now,” Harbaugh said Sept. 5. “You’re hearing some intimidating type of talk, the same thing we were hearing a couple of years ago. It sounds a lot like targeting a specific player. You definitely start to wonder.”

…Because that’s the rub of having a Manemy: He’s never there to warn you against the pitfalls he is specifically interested in watching you stumble upon.

Unfortunately for Harbaugh, his next Manemy encounter is set for Dec. 8 when Carroll’s Seahawks plan on clinching the division on the 9ers’ home turf.

Maybe that’ll happen. Or maybe in true Manemy fashion, when the cameras are off, the pair will instead grab a cup of coffee and dish their dreams in a diner à la Manemys for life Hanna and McCauley.

Something along the lines of this:

Jim Harbaugh: I have one where I’m drowning. And I gotta wake myself up and start breathing or I’ll die in my sleep.
Pete Carroll: You know what that’s about?
Jim Harbaugh: Yeah. Having enough time.
Pete Carroll: Enough time? To do what you wanna do?
Jim Harbaugh: That’s right.
Pete Carroll: You doin’ it now?
Jim Harbaugh: No, not yet.