Dave Roberts’ decision to pull Ross Stripling during a debut no-hitter bid was the right one—though not the fun one

The message boards are pulsing this morning but with 157 games left to go this season, the Dodgers’ first-year manager did the right thing by ignoring the record books—and the fans.

By Andrew J. Pridgen

On a drizzle-flecked Friday night that conjured memories of the black-and-white San Francisco you grew up reading about just left of the Macy’s ad, Los Angeles Dodgers righty Ross Stripling made a stunning major league debut, pitching no-hit ball for 71/3.

Stripling got the first out in the eighth. But after walking Angel Pagan, his drone strike-accuracy was starting to fade—be it from fatigue or awareness. Stripling was then pulled just after throwing his 100th pitch.

Dodgers’ newly minted manager Dave Roberts, who owns Red Stitch winery with former Giants teammate/color commentator Rich Aurilia, called for reliever Chris Hatcher just in time for San Francisco rookie catcher Trevor Brown to hit a two-run shot to knot the game at two.

Brown would only be the first UCLA Bruin to go yard Friday night for the men in orange as shortstop Brandon Crawford would finish the job with an opposite-field walk-off homer in the 10th off reliever Joe Blanton.

Stripling, 26, is less than two years removed from Tommy John surgery. And Roberts made a sound metrics-based, if not totally emotion-free decision to pull him. Kind of the managerial equivalent of taking a second date to a Kings of Leon concert: Nobody’s having any fun, but nobody’s totally offended either.

Through seven, the rookie was masterful against erstwhile Giants ace Matt Cain, who is currently teeing off on the 17th of his career with the clubhouse in sight, and put the rest of the NL on notice.

If the Zach who? Dodgers’ rotation is really this viable one through five without Hyun-jin Ryu back from shoulder surgery—a fourth-consecutive playoff run seems inevitable. Roberts knew there’s sense in chasing something (debut no-hitter) that hasn’t been done since Benjamin Harrison was in office if it means texting James Andrews to clear his schedule in August.

Bumpus Jones, your record is in tact—and you are also trending.

And Dave Roberts became the first Dodger manager since Tommy Lasorda to be vehemently booed by Giants fans…in this instance for denying them a peek at history in exchange for uncertainty down the road.

A fair trade if you’re a Dodgers faithful and a feat that should keep both fanbases happily on edge in advance of today’s afternoon delight starring their generation’s best in Madison Bumgarner and Clayton Kershaw.

 

 

Pints and Picks Week 8: We just realized everyone reads this column in their own voice and that’s probably why it doesn’t make much sense

Each week, during college football season DPB’s Kyle Magin and Andrew J. Pridgen pour on the prose with Pints and Picks™. Who to wager and what to drink while doing it. Here we ask the eternal questions: What matters less the least? The second season of How to Make it in America, hitters in the playoffs or the Big 12?

Kyle,

Well, we’ve come to college football week 8. The blush, as they say, is off the bouquet and we’re fully in-season. If you’re me, that means three things: 1) The Oregon Ducks can disappoint you by losing AND winning. 2) Aforementioned Ducks are projected for the Las Vegas Bowl Dec. 18 which means my Christmas present to myself will be making mistakes in Vegas the week before I have to face my extended family and 3) There’s a good shot no Pac-12 team will be in the ‘final four’ or the playoff or whatever which brings me back to my original argument against the four-team ‘playoff’ format last year. That it’s not a playoff as much as it is an arbitrary jumble of who had the easiest schedule (I’m looking at you Big 12 and ACC).

That’s right Kyle, while I’m totally alright with Ohio State, Alabama, Utah and…OK, Baylor—sure— being in that rarefied field; the prospect of waking up New Year’s Day to watch smackdowns of TCU vs. Clemson and FSU vs. Baylor is giving me the night sweats worse than menopause. I mean, a quartet like that is worse than anything the BCS ever brought and the BCS brought plenty of bad. And to be clear, the playoff system wasn’t as much the NCAA doing away with the BCS as it was a rebranding of it and creating a single-elimination game within the construct of the same bowl system.

Yes Kyle, you hear a lot here–but you’re hearing this here first: If the FBS quartet of chosen ones doesn’t shake down to this year to include a Pac-12 (even a one-loss program) a SEC (ditto), a B1G school then the whole thing’s for naught. I never thought I’d be an apologist for the SEC, but there you go. Also, this is where I usually plug the Pac-12 as the strongest top-to-bottom division, but I’ll back off a bit from that this year (if only because I’m not sure Cal’s not going to fold under the pressure of newfound expectation, UCLA and their Rosen One—for now—has come back down to earth, everyone’s onto Oregon, Chris Peterson’s Huskies are still pretenders, USC needs Eric Taylor stat and Stanford is the most mediocre on paper but apparently the best of the lot this side of SLC….)

So I’ll sub that out with the B1G being the real conference of record this year. Iowa looks like their front seven can out-swim you and then close down a Golden Corral by emptying out its walk-in before the end of the lunch shift. Michigan State has Michael Landon on the sidelines willing them to something-beyond-explanation. Ohio State keeps winning in spite of looking completely disinterested in holding onto the football. Michigan is formidable once more and Penn State and Northwestern, though fading from the conversation, are in any given half though rarely two in a row, the best programs in the country.

Phew.

So week eight to me means one thing: I’m running out of time. I’m running out of time for any team with the tiger as a mascot to lose. I’m running out of time for TCU to start running out of magic tricks. I’m running out of time to be able to keep ignoring Baylor. I’m running out of time to hope that Cal and UCLA don’t ever have to play one another… basically, Kyle, I’m running out of time to believe that I’ll have any interest in college football after…what date was that again? Oh yeah, Dec. 18.

AJ,

Steady on, old boy. Things look bleak today, sure. But that’s because everybody is just kind of circling each other right now. There’s only one ranked-on-ranked matchup this weekend. It’s the deep breath before the dive and the fistfight over who’ll determine the final four come December.

Look, we’ve still got TCU-Baylor on the schedule (and hell, matchups for both teams with undefeated Oklahoma State in upcoming weeks), Bama-LSU, Michigan State-Ohio State, Clemson-FSU and a handful of other showdowns that’ll introduce a little chaos into the system and open it up for the real cream to rise to the top, hopefully from the conferences you mentioned. We’re in a holding pattern right now, but soon enough the knives will come back out and we’ll get to whittling.

I of course say all this with the undeserved pompous air of a man who’s found temporary serenity. Last week I was a mess before MSU-Michigan. My Spartans were an underdog to the Wolverines and I have to eat copious amounts of crow anytime State loses these days. I spend weeks shitting on Michigan and its fanbase and the immediate period after every victory going through my phone and texting/calling to harass every UM fan I know. My personal Facebook page has been a sore winner’s handbook this week. Owning up to all this shit-talking is almost more frightening at this point than an MSU loss. I know coach Mark Dantonio will prepare even his thin squads (which are few and far between these days) to have a puncher’s chance against any B1G opponent. But with Michigan coming on far ahead of schedule under Jim Harbaugh, I clammed up last week. I didn’t really say much to my UM buddies ahead of the matchup. All my paranoia–the inferiority complex that got baked in so much as a child, before the Tom Izzo and Dantonio regimes made it obsolete–hung heavy over the proceedings. I ‘watched’ most of the second-half from my phone, too nervous to acknowledge that the rivalry was really back, and with any rivalry there is a good chance of ending up on the losing end for it to count. I didn’t really believe the final score until the third or fourth time I saw Jalen Watts-Jackson tote the rock into the endzone on replay. Then I lost my shit.

Now, with an exposed Indiana squad on the schedule (though I’m not totally looking past them), I view the landscape currently with a plutocrat’s indifference to a bread line, rather than the there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I grounded viewpoint I should be adopting.

The way I see it, leagues with soft underbellies like the Big 12 and ACC get one or two games to prove their worth before the committee (if it’s just.) That’s it. Baylor, TCU, FSU and Clemson’s margins for error are so much more comparatively slight than one of the big boys from the Pac 12, SEC or B1G who will come in to state their merits bruised and panting. Again, we’re relying on the justice of an organization known for its capriciousness in the NCAA, but last year’s selection seemed pretty pragmatic. So, since your fears aren’t totally unfounded, maybe start rooting for Mike ‘I’M A MAN’ Gundy and his 30-plus points per game offense to lob grenades at Baylor and TCU in November. Clemson should Clemson by then and we all know that September-October Everett Golson can be a very different beast than November-December Everett Golson. Keep the faith, my friend.

Kyle,

Thanks for bringing me back. I feel like this is my Reuben Tishkoff (<–why isn’t Elliott Gould in every movie from now till he dies?) from Ocean’s 13 moment when he thanks Don Cheadle’s Basher Tarr for “Bringing (him) back.” You know, “the moment you become embarrassed of who you are, you lose yourself. I changed my house, the way I dressed, the way I ate—for what? For nothing.”

So yeah, I’m gonna be me. Gonna re-find myself in time to re-enact my Vegas Bowl performance of 1997 where I yelled profanities at a horse cop because he was a cop…on a horse; got asked nicely, then not so nicely, to leave Sam Boyd stadium after using the track to do laps for no reason during the third quarter; once outside, found (yes, actually ‘found’) an abandoned beer tent where the kegs were still tapped and drank my fill with about a half-dozen buddies and a homeless Paiute and then ended up (on a dare…I think the dare was something like: ‘I think you should swim across the Treasure Island moat’) swimming across the Treasure Island moat. It was glorious. And I’ll be not embarrassed of my best/worst self cheering on the best/worst version of the Ducks come December should the c-list bowl game stars align.

More importantly, you restored my faith (a wee bit) in the system. In the also-rans and should’ve-beens sorting themselves out over the next three or four weeks. Of course Clemson is going to lose and TCU is going to get dropkicked and Baylor will stumble. Of course LSU shows its true colors against an overachieving Hilltoppers squad (more on that below) and of course Utah runs the table as Wittingham refuses to be denied. Right? Right?

And even if he doesn’t, I still have about 10 more days of fall baseball. And then, I don’t know what then. I kind of feel the same way about this baseball season as I do Amy Winehouse. Like I kind of took it for granted while it was here and now that it’s about to leave I’m discovering its true genius. As the years grind on, I will recall it with fondness, in spite of—or maybe because of—the Cubs’ somewhat early seeming exit this magic and transformative MLB season that was.

With that, a couple college football picks building up to my big finale—the WS pick:

Utah State -7.5 @ San Diego State

Utah State is fresh off a win whoopin’ ass at home vs. Boise, almost upset in-state rival and future no. 1 Utah and lost a closer-than-it-looked slugfest to a schizophrenic Huskies squad who seemingly have given up on Chris Peterson this year more publicly than the showrunners of season 2 of How to Make it in America. San Diego and their raft of young talent got taken to task by Fresno State but eventually prevailed. Though both schools are atop their respective Mountain West Divisions (SD – The Mountain West – West and Utah State – The Mountain West – Mountain) it is the Big Blues that will give the Aztecs a clue (get it?) about who’s the real contender Friday night. Even Utah State coach Matt Wells admits his Aggies are “in the driver’s seat” in the Mountain Division race. The reason: Utah State can score, fast. The three of you who have the kink-sounding FSNMW will recall they were up early 10-3 against BSU in the first quarter and then for whatever reason decided to turn Doc Brown’s afterburners on (sorry, had to do one #BTFweek reference) at Maverik Stadium to jump up to a 45-10 halftime lead before putting it back to cruise at 67. SDSU has a couple of seasoned DBs that could slow the Blue’s air attack ever so slightly but their front seven isn’t nearly as physical (what’s with Utah being the source for linemen of late?) and I expect a 20-point lead to surface by the third quarter.

Western Kentucky +17 @ LSU

Sort of meat dangling from the bettors’ tree with a hidden net under it here but I’m taking the bait and the spread. LSU could well open it up in the second half and take the W by 24ish points. But I’m not banking on it. It’s not so much that this is a classic ‘trap game’ (it is) but it’s that Western Kentucky (6-1) is legit. Look no further than future fourth-rounder/Pro Bowler Brandon Doughty (who reminds me of Daughtry, which is awful). Doughty who’s like 37 (6th-year senior) has his 6-1 Hilltoppers rolling atop Conference USA (<–which I, no joke, actually used to think was a semi-pro football league owned by the USA Network). Doughty led FBS last year with more than 4,800 yards in the air and 49 touchdowns and already has more than 2,700 yards on his bedpost this year with 24 teeders. Whoa. And guess what? LSU’s secondary is uncharastically awful this year. Granted, the Tigs get senior free safety Jalen Mills (fractured fibula) back this week after almost a year rehabbing, but don’t expect him to bulldoze in this SEC snoozer. Hilltoppers may not come out of Baton Rouge with a W, but they should provide the faithful with plenty-a-pre-Halloween scare.

All right, Kyle. My WS pick on the other side.

AJ,

Ah-ha! Props for digging into the Mountain West. I see your second-tier West Coast football and raise you a little #MACtion…

Bowling Green -14 @ Kent State

A warm-ish, rainy afternoon is in store for Kent, Ohio Saturday as the 3-4, 2-1 Golden Flashes try to knock 5-2, 3-0 Bowling Green out of sole ownership of first place in the MAC’s Eastern Division. There should be about 5,000 people in the stands, and the Flashes are going to have a hard time of it. While Bowling Green has done a majority of its offensive damage through the air this season (24 TDs passing vs. 17 rushing) it’s still a competent rushing team (4.1 yards per rush, 50% conversion rate on 3rd downs), which is a key factor on slippery days. Add to it the fact that Bowling Green leads the league in turnovers and points off turnovers at 112 and its generally terrible defense almost negates its inability to stop anybody (they give up 32.6 ppg). The Falcons are 5-2 ATS this season and KSU is 3-4, so that about wraps it for me.

Indiana @ Michigan State Under 62

The 4-3 Hoosiers are averaging just 20 points on the road this season and have lost three straight since surging to a somewhat conspicuous perfect record heading into their loss to Ohio State three weeks ago. A game in the October rain in East Lansing is no place to cure ills. The Spartans are coming off their most exhilarating win this season but have cracked 35 points just twice this year and (last week excepted) haven’t been getting much help via takeaways or special teams. I look for a low-scoring affair with the Spartans playing keepaway with the ball. They force fumbles at a high rate (12 with 6 takeaways) and reciprocate by not turning the ball over much at all (just 3 TOs this season.) AJ, when the weather turns in EL, they’ve got the perfect answer with an offense that controls the ball by more than a four-minute margin and converts nearly half of their third downs.

Kansas @ Oklahoma State -35

Vegas is begging, pleading, down-on-their-knees for you to bet 0-6 Kansas, a team that is 2-4 ATS this season and getting mollywhopped by everyone from Lubbock to Brookings, SD. They’ll point to an almost respectable Jayhawks 20-30 loss against Texas Tech last week. Peel the onion back a layer further, though, and look at that 66-7 stinker against Baylor at home the week before. That’s your instructive moment for this game, as Baylor and Oklahoma State are a little more analogous. The Pokes are 6-0 and rolling at this point in the season. They’ve amassed 25 sacks, led by DE Emmanuel Ogbah with 8 for a total opponent loss of 37 yards. Kansas has given up a little more than 2 sacks a game and lost a total of 113 yards. They convert on third downs just 39 percent of the time and manage just 132 rushing yards per game, so OSU’s defense will be teeing off on Jayhawks QB Ryan Willis. Hide the women and children in Lawrence.

Texas A&M +5.5 @ Ole Miss

AJ, it’s gotta be disheartening to live in Oxford these days. The script is so vile: Hugh Freeze assembles the defense from hell, said defense wins the September National Championship then starts blowing chunks at some point in October. Rinse, repeat. 5-1 A&M rides into town after a loss to Alabama that was rough but nowhere near as gut-wrenching as the 5-2 Rebels’ 37-24 stomping at the hands of Memphis last week. Grisham doesn’t write Southern tragedies that vicious. It’s got all the hallmarks of last season’s late-season free-fall, where the Rebs went 2-4 in their last six. Neither team really has momentum, but nobody falls apart with the panache that Ole Miss does. The Rebs got murdered in time of possession last week by nearly 14 minutes, struggled to cover kickoffs and gave up two huge interceptions. They’re showing all the signs of a team falling apart, and I fully expect Kevin Sumlin to take advantage.

Alright AJ, we’ve both been enthralled by baseball’s postseason, who ya got?

Kyle,

Mets in 5

The 2010 Giants went into the World Series as underdogs against the power-pitching, spray-hitting and smooth-fielding Texas Rangers. The Giants enjoyed home-field advantage and quickly notched game one with back-to-back Cy Young winner Tim Lincecum taking his still-elastic body to task against country hardballer and fellow Cy Younger Cliff Lee. It was a couple walks in the fifth that set up Cody Ross and Aubrey Huff to hit back-to-back singles which knocked Lee out of the box during an eventual six-run inning and set the tone for the Giants to take the series in five, clinching at Texas.

Why do I bring up 2010? Because the 2015 Mets are the EXACT SAME TEAM as the 2010 Giants. They’ve got three four of the best pitchers in baseball. Cagey veteran Matt Harvey, exactly two years removed from Tommy John, in the role of Matt Cain. And young guns Emilio Estevez and Kiefer Sutherland Jacob deGrom and Noah Snydergaard are the 2.0 versions of Madison Bumgarner and Tim Lincecom. Throw in reliable like a ’90s Honda Accord Steven Matz, AARP coverboy Bartolo Colon and a bullpen anchored by Mr. Steady Acquisition Tyler Clippard (see: Jeremy Affeldt/Javier Lopez) and baseball’s best current closer Jeurys Familia (see: Brian Wilson) and, well, there you go.

Do I even need to talk about the miracle bat of Daniel Murphy or the emergence of Michael Cuddyer or the Robin Williams-with-a-beard-in-a-dramatic-role-style awakening of Curtis Granderson? No. No, I don’t. Because baseball in the last decade has transitioned to such a pitcher-centric sport in the playoffs, I’ve decided that #hitterslivesmatter should start trending; especially in light of the Cubs’ demolition.

But if you must press it a step further, Terry Collins is up there with Boch and Matheny as the game’s current best between the lines and is about to join Davey Johnson and Gil Hodges as the only Mets managers to win it all. He’s got the young and dumb arms. He’s got the nice mix of veteran bats and wily position players and he’s got the reverse-home-field-advantage that has propelled the NL to take five of the last seven world titles. Split the first two on the road, take two of three (or maybe all three at home) then split on the road if necessary. AL teams don’t seem to enjoy the advantage of hosting with a DH as much as they’re affected by the disadvantage of having to manage around it on the road and neither Ned Yost nor John Gibbons seem to have much going on in the way of strategery other than shrugging and saying, “We’ll just put our best nine out there and see what happens.”

Or, let me put it like this. You’re arriving back at Citifield down two games and your reward is…facing Matt Harvey. Hell, both deGrom and Snydergaard can go on one-day’s rest. Ask Bumgarner and Lincecum and Cain what’s worse, shortening your career by three years by throwing out your arm in the post-season or having to weigh that same arm down with a trio of rings for the rest of your life.

Kyle, I know you’re an AL apologist, so now it’s your turn to take us home telling me about how Cueto and Ventura or a murders’ row of LaBatts-swilling Canucks can derail this battery from Queens.

AJ,

It’s tough to know how this will shake out before we know who wins the AL (HEDGE ALERT!), but of course I’m going with the junior circuit’s representative. Why? Because I know, all too well, what happens when a team has a long layoff heading into the finale. The Detroit Tigers were the first team to clinch a berth in both 2006 and 2012 (leading to 7 and 6 day layoffs, respectively) and it didn’t work out too well. The Mets clinched their spot on Wednesday and will have to wait until Tuesday to play again.

At worst, the Royals will have just three off days until the showdown starts, at best, Toronto or KC goes into the series with just two off days. That means the hitters keep their all-important rhythm and no pitchers face potential 8-10 days off between work in the cool late October air.

The Mets have been on a hell of a run, but now it’s been disrupted. There are no sliders with bad intentions for Daniel Murphy to golf to the moon. There are no hitters standing in against Jacob deGrom’s vile-ass stuff. Look for an AL team to come in, with their lathered-up home fans in games 1 & 2, and put the Mets on their heels. AL in six.

The PNP Recap

Kyle

Last week: 1 and 3

Overall: 12 for 24

Texas A&M +5.5 @ Ole Miss

Kansas @ Oklahoma State -35

Indiana @ Michigan State Under 62

Bowling Green -14 @ Kent State

AL in six

AJ

Last week: 1 for 2

Overall: 13 for 18 (one tie)

Utah State -7.5 @ San Diego State

Western Kentucky +17 @ LSU

Mets in 5

Photo: HBO

Hunter Pence’s return is uncertain as is the Giants’ 2015 campaign

San Francisco’s emotional and statistical leader is sidelined till August. But will he be the same when he gets back in the lineup?

By Andrew Pridgen

Unless they can steal one on Sunday Night Baseball, the Giants are in danger of finishing a six-game East Coast swing winless; losing three close games in Miami before wilting in the crushing humidity of the nation’s capital and dropping a pair to the first-place Nationals.

Giants ace Madison Bumgarner didn’t pack his cape in the carry-on and spotted the Nats a three-run lead after throwing only five pitches during an early Independence Day (11 a.m. EST) start—including the biggest explosion of the day: a 420-foot mistake to Bryce Harper for the sluggers’ 25th home run.

Bumgarner went on to allow six runs in five innings, his worst start since, well, the Fourth of July 2012 —where he allowed seven.

On this trip, particularly during the two games in Washington, the Giants’ pitching isn’t the only thing that’s off.

A series of mental errors have supplanted the mistakes over the plate. Friday, Angel Pagan thought he was out at second not knowing the second-baseman didn’t field the ball cleanly. Pagan started jogging back to the dugout, only to be tagged out.

Saturday, Brandon Belt was picked off at first by the Nats’ backstop Wilson Ramos. On defense, Belt left the bag on a ground ball that glanced off third baseman Matt Duffy’s knee but was fielded cleanly by Brandon Crawford—who found his target across the diamond empty.

Down seven, the Giants’ glimmer of a comeback died in the 8th. Gregor Blanco found himself between third and home as Nats’ shortstop Ian Desmond faked a throw to first after fielding a grounder and ran over to Blanco and tagged him out en route to the dugout.

…On March 5th, the Giants’ fortunes seemed to change overnight: from World Champs who got all the breaks to a team receiving news of the worst possible kind. Right fielder Hunter Pence’s left arm was fractured after being hit by a pitch from Cubs prospect Corey Black.

To that point, Pence had played in 383 straight games—the longest active streak in MLB. Since the Giants traded for Pence in July 2012, The Preacher has hit .277 and collected 408 hits, 225 runs, raked 54 bombs and driven in 218—leading the team in all as well as willing the underdog squad to a pair of World Series titles.

Pence did make it back into the lineup for an 18-game stretch in late-May/early June, giving the streaking Giants a morale boost and helping to bring them within a game of the first-place Dodgers, (the Giants went 18-18 in the absence of the three-time All-Star to start the season).

The wild-eyed outfielder hit .282 during his time back until tendonitis in the left arm flared. He was re-placed on the 15-day disabled list June 12 and doesn’t look to return until month’s end.

“He’s doing well, but he is just hitting off a tee now,” manager Bruce Bochy said last week. “We’re going to slow-play this. He’ll probably need a couple of (minor-league rehab) games. More than likely he’ll be back after the All-Star break.”

Historically, the forearm fracture is a tough one to come back from in-season. The Yankees’ Curtis Granderson suffered a similar break in 2013 during Spring Training and ended up playing only 61 games and hitting .229 that season.

While it remains to be seen how Pence’s numbers bear out, that 60-game mark may be tougher to attain than baseball’s current Iron Man originally thought. The forearm fracture is one of those sneaky, quirky injuries that informs every at-bat and every trot out to the field.

The tendonitis flare-up was a result of an early June diving play in right against the Pirates. Since then, Pence’s mastery of the wind-whipped carom-and-clang of AT&T’s arrogant right field, has been missed

Off-season acquisition Nori Aoki was doing a serviceable job in the home park’s most dangerous corner and was destroying NL pitching, hitting .317 before getting plucked in the leg on June 20 against the Dodgers and fracturing his fibula. Aoki’s return is also in doubt until mid-August.

The Giants are known winners and the reigning World Series champions. This season, plagued with injuries, streaky pitching and more substitutions in the outfield than during an ECHL game, seems to be following the book-those-fishing-charters-in-September narrative of the team’s recent odd-numbered years.

The chances of hanging a pennant in 2015 are long against San Francisco (10-1 at last count), but then again, it’s never been—especially in Pence’s case—about paying attention to the odds.

Why the Giants will soon part with their Panda

No sooner had the final out of the 2014 World Series predictably found its way into Pablo Sandoval’s glove than the chatter over whether the Giants could sign such a lovable chordate commenced.

Let’s stop right there: They won’t. They’ll let him go gently and into the ether like Kate did Jack, like Diane did Sam, like George Michael did Andrew Ridgeley. After an interminable year of back and forth and an ocean of cash between them, it’s time for a clean break.

Sandoval, the switch-hitting, vacuum-gloved, before photo for any fat-melting miracle pill, is a homegrown Giant. Left off the team’s 2010 post-season roster due of lack of robustness—with the exception of around his midsection—Sandoval came back a little more lippy and a lot more light in 2011 and vowed to make amends for the club and his legacy. And he did.

While Sandoval has a bubbly career BA of .294 (beyond respectable, especially for a third baseman which has become the new catcher in the MLB—no production in the plate often excused by a sure glove) encompassing eight regular seasons, his real value according to his teammates and beat writers is the ability to galvanize a clubhouse. You gotta bring something to the table if you’re going to take so much from it—including leading the team in inning-ending double-plays (hitting into, not turning) three straight seasons. And he does. The verbose and kind Sandoval is nothing short of a rainbow bridge between the squad’s Latin-born populace and the other guys, most of whom hail from the dirty South and know about as much of the old Español to order the wrong kind of meat on their burrito—is it carne or asada I’m eating?

Sandoval seems to have an extra special clubhouse bond with one Hunter Pence. Pence similarly shows his scuffs during the regular season and has a proclivity for hitting ground ball flares into potential rally killers (though more fleet afoot, he often reaches first on a fielder’s choice). Like his Venezuelan bestie, Pence leads with words and backs it up with action in crunch time. Baseball, it can be said, is the most unlikely of team sports. When dug in to the batters box you’re as alone as an astronaut. When the ball misjudged sails overhead, suddenly you’re naked and afraid in front of 40k. But if you don’t have the right guys—a foxhole full of those equipped with an undergrad psych major’s sixth sense, a head cheerleader’s chutzpah and a mother’s soothing sweet nothings—you, and the team, are going to fall apart, quickly.

Chemistry is one of those awful words that gets batted around like a shuttlecock at a youth group picnic yet nobody can quite define it much less put a dollar value on it in the MLB. But it’s there. It’s there mightily. The Giants minus their chemistry are about five games worse than the Twins or Mariners in 2014. They’re a middling team in a bigger market with a fickle fan base which sells out because of the venue, stupid. If the home team isn’t keeping things close during the beer innings, most Giants faithful in their $120 seats comp’d by Salesforce are checking Urban Spoon whether Zero Zero or State Bird Provisions can still get them in before 9.

Panda is a key to that chemistry.

Yes, there is more good in him than a mouth full of chaw and a belly full of intangibles. There are Sandoval’s glorious hitting sprees in October. From setting the tone against the Tigers with a blast off heretofore untouchable Justin Verlander, to putting nearly every American League advance scout on food stamps because of his wanton ability to hit everything out of the strike zone and away from the dish thrown his way; somehow the same balls that are sucked up and regurgitated for two quick outs during the regular season bounce off his bendy slo-mo bat and into the proper holes during the second season, the one that matters.

Reborn clutch, Sandoval came off the bench in 2012 and 2014 to become one of the great World Series hitters of his time, perhaps all-time. And who would’ve thunk it?

Most likely, the Giants’ front office, that’s who.

The Sandoval Breakup has been in the works for more than a year. Like a couple who lives together and can’t quite figure out how to sort through their LPs, the kitchenware and those mystery boxes in the garage, the uncoupling has been a deliberate if not well-masked grind. Lincecum and Pence both said, “I may not be in love with you but I still love you even though you hog the covers” and took deals on the last days of the 2012 and 2013 seasons respectively to keep themselves off the market. Pablo got multiple similar sign-now and avoid-the-mess offers. He refused.

Lincecum shorted himself about four years with his two-year, $35 million deal. It might not have been a hometown price in the traditional sense, but 55’s pair of Cys have become dust magnets and both parties knew it was time for him to earn back that career-bookend six-year deal. Blame squeaky mechanics or drop in velocity, Big Time Timmy Jim goes as every Giants’ starting pitcher has over the last half-decade. Eat innings now, pay physically later. Lincecum, Cain and even Bumgarner have shorted their careers by a handful of exercised option years which in baseball terms is basically saying you’ll pass away at 85 instead of 90. Oh well. Dead arms by the mid-30s and a couple extra sunsets on the ranch in exchange for that throwing hand to dangle from the weight of three rings is a trade most starters would gladly make.

Pence was given his due and moved to the top third of outfield earners at five years, $90 million. He was also coming off a grandiose regular season for a club that had all but quit in July. That Pence spent August and September still battling, still carrying on and still cranking out hits and RBIs when the rest of the club—front office included—was making tee times earned him the Willie Mac award for most inspirational player as voted by the guy from the locker next to you and enough cash to buy a few dozen replacement scooters should his heart desire.

Pablo was offered and turned down three years for $40 million in the spring, which was fair money for a streaky but sure-footed third baseman who’s battled weight and consistency issues his entire career. The Giants have tried everything with Panda: From putting him in off-season detention making him eat his weight in Weight Watchers and sprinting laps up and down Camelback Mountain in Scottsdale, to keeping him away from his beloved Venezuelan winter ball and all the fixins’ (see: empanadas) that go with it, to monitoring diet and workouts during the regular season with the exacting eye of a former Duchess of York. None of this worked.

The Giants found through trial and error letting Pablo be Pablo just as they let Pence be Pence, is the only way to keep the big boy grinning.

That 48 won’t be back in Creamsicle® next spring will not be through lack of trying. The Giants will back exactly one Brinks truck to sign Sandoval. GM Brian Sabean’s sanguine notions that Pablo’s priority number one in the offseason isn’t, at least this time, just lip service. The front office has a history, to a fault, of rewarding those who’ve delivered in the post-season…well to the franchise’s financial detriment (see: Aubrey Huff and Marco Scutaro—both were delivered contracts in the form of a giant check and mylar balloons by the ghost of Ed McMahon after the ’10 and ’12 World Series). Sandoval is up and the Giants will offer him something to vaguely match Pence money, which is well more than they wanted to give and well more he could have demanded on the market if the Giants hadn’t an ace up their sleeve to throw against Pittsburgh in the Wild Card and then chugged along to bang down the door of history once more after that. Know this in the afterglow of the Champagne bath: the reigning world champs have $410 million in salary commitments for 2015 and beyond; only the Dodgers and Yankees have more on the books.

Because of this, the team won’t go further than they have to and they definitely won’t go full-retard Josh Hamilton Giancarlo Stanton money for the crowd-pleaser; which is not nearly what Pablo thinks he wants or deserves. His agent, Gustavo Vasquez, comes off brash and small-time if not crooked and his life’s big payout comes in the form of an affable weeble wobble. I don’t trust Vasquez has got Panda’s best interest in mind, not with that kind of one-time payday on the line. But I’m not the one that matters. Larry Baer and Sabean do. And they don’t seem to trust Pablo’s surrogates any farther than they can throw their third Commissioner’s Trophy off the club level mezzanine.

For a guy who will likely be splitting time at third with a prospect three years into his next deal, Sandoval knows he’ll be set for life whether he stays or whether he goes and deserves to get paid for services rendered. But sometimes, the worst decisions can be seen without the benefit of hindsight. Those in his ear telling him the Giants are trying to pull a fast one, that he can do better, get more somewhere else—are winning. Else the deal would be done by now. It could have gotten done in March. It could have gotten done in July. It could have gotten done before his ski goggles had a chance to defog in October. But it didn’t—and there’s nothing to say it’ll get done during potentially record-setting winter talks where the price to play has already been set north of $300 million and the franchise from 4th and King traditionally bows out of bidding wars.

The Giants have Andrew Susac who looks ready to convert from catcher and play every day, 20-year-old Christian Arroyo who can play short or third and Adam Duvall who’s ready to go now as a first or third baseman. One of these three could spell or replace Panda outright. Sandoval knows this. He also knows there’s only one man on the planet who can move more endangered species merch than the World Wildlife Fund, Greenpeace and PETA combined.

What Panda may not know is what everyone who’s ever been through a breakup can tell him now: It doesn’t get better with someone else. The same problems just wear a different shade of lipstick and a new dress. He says his heart is in San Francisco, but as the song goes, hearts are meant to be left there.

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

Sing it

We’re past baseball’s All Star Game and headed into the stretch run for the 15ish teams with a shot at the playoffs. The perfect time for a musical interlude. Here then, a theme song for every contender within spitting distance of their division or a wild card berth as they push toward October:

AL East

Baltimore Orioles—Puddle of Mudd “She Hates Me”
With 68 games remaining, the Orioles’ first 23 are against plus-.500 clubs, including a post-All Star-break run against the AL West’s top tier. They’re four games up in a shitty division, so it’s not all bad, but the MLB’s schedule-maker truly hates the Os.

Toronto Blue Jays—Madeline Khan “I’m Tired”
The Jays set the AL East on fire through June, leading the division for 48 straight games at one point. But after bumbling to an 8-17 finish before the break, can’t you see this team is tired? Injuries, catcher Josh Thole’s rag doll, please-steal-second arm and a suddenly quiet offense mean Toronto is basically kaput.

New York Yankees—Jay Z “Fade to Black”
Like Jay’s overwrought retirement tour with the Black Album, Yankee Shortstop Derek Jeter’s bloated farewell will be sweetest when it finally ends, probably in September. No more tips of the cap to someone “classy” enough to stay with the one organization willing to overpay for his talents for two decades. No more giddily scribbled Valentine soft-focus tributes from men 20 years his senior on Fox broadcasts. The Yanks are five games behind Baltimore in the division and 3.5 behind in the wild card yet they’re sucking air with ace pitcher Masahiro Tanka sidelined for at least a month with arm trouble. Unless every opposing pitcher in the league decides to groove throw Jeter belt-high fastballs the rest of the season, we can finally kiss the last vestige of the 90s Yankees goodbye.

AL Central

Detroit Tigers—George Thorogood and the Destroyers “I Drink Alone”
Yeah, with nobody else. In the Central, the Tigers essentially drink alone. Their successes and failures are entirely dependent on a world-class offense, potential-packed, results-stunted staff and manic bullpen. They’re 22-16 versus the rest of their middling-to-terrible division and during a month stretch in May and June excelled tremendously at beating themselves without assistance from opposing clubs. This is their division to lose.

Kansas City Royals—Smokey Robinson “Tracks of My Tears”
Nobody made heartbreak nearly as fun (and danceable!) as Smokey did in this classic track. The Royals are trying to duplicate the effort. They had the Tigers by the tail, literally, going 2 games up at one point in the first half before looking down for what seemed like 10 seconds and then looking up to see themselves in a 6.5 game hole. Their pitching is fantastically broken and third baseman Mike Moustakas, while certainly Greek, is far from a god, hitting .219 with runners on.

Cleveland Indians—Weird Al Yankovic “Close but no Cigar”
Like Weird Al’s love interest, the Indians have a lot of good things going for them. All-Star outfielder Michael Brantley has a .901 OBP and has already knocked in 63 runs. Lonnie Chisenhall is finally getting a chance to play a rock-solid third base full-time and is a monster at the plate. From afar, the Tribe looks like a hottie. But the staff is riddled with some penicillin-resistant disease, and aside from Chisenhall the infield handles grounders with all the care of frozen McRibs in the back of your local gut bomb factory.

AL West

Oakland Athletics—ACDC “For Those about to Rock (We Salute You)”
Stand up and be counted for what you are about to receive/we are the dealers/we’ll give you everything you need.
Noted asshole and Oakland owner Lew Wolff and destitute man’s Brad Pitt Billy Beane have given A’s fans what they need to succeed in the AL and possibly all of baseball this year. For with the addition of Jeff Samardzija and Jason Hammel from the Cubs, the A’s are ready to rock into the postseason. They’ve now the pitching to complement bats like Josh Donaldson (20 HR and 65 RBI) and Brandon Moss (21 HR, 66 RBI) on a staff that was already 23 games above .500. The ALCS will go through Oakland.

Anaheim Angels—Aretha Franklin “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”
What’s a team gotta do to turn some heads in the AL West? The Angels are 1.5 games behind the A’s—the best team in baseball—and are in the process of reanimating the corpse of Josh Hamilton, who helped key a five-game winning streak heading into the break. Mike Trout continues to play like baseball Jesus with his 22 HR and 73 RBI and Albert Pujols is slugging a full hundred points higher than the league average while smacking 20 HR to this point. Garrett Richards and CJ Wilson are strikeout machines—the A’s take their foot off the gas at their own peril.

NL West

Los Angeles Dodgers—Ozzy Osbourne “Crazy Train”
The Dodgers are probably (definitely) going off the rails at some point in the second half, they’ll just do it in a spectacular manner. Clayton Kershaw and Zach Grienke will do their best to keep the engine chugging what with their 12 and 10 Ks per game, respectively, while Yasiel Puig and Dee Gordon continue to play some of the best defense in baseball. But here’s Josh Beckett blowing out just before the break, and there’s Puig’s power numbers barely matching Gordon’s over the last two months, and here’s Adrian Gonzalez, Matt Kemp and Carl Crawford notching just 30 HR between them, and Donny Baseball’s negative reinforcement can only work so many times. The explosion will be epic.

San Francisco Giants—Charlie Murphy (as Stinky) “F*ck It”
What else do you say when you cough up a 9.5 game lead in the course of a month? The Giants hang their offense on catcher Buster Posey, who has hung Kurt Suzuki-lite numbers this summer—his .378 slugging percentage trails the league. There’s a core concept misunderstanding when your middle-of-the-order slugger is hitting like a 7-holer, leading a team-wide power outage from Memorial Day onward. Madison Bumgarner strikes out nearly everyone but seems to walks the rest and Matt Cain’s every venture beyond the 5th inning is tantamount to swimming off the Farallons with an open wound.  Tim Lincecum is coming back nicely with four strong starts before the break, though, and Hunter Pence continues to play like his hair is on fire. A devil-may-care attitude could catch the Dodgers.

NL Central

Milwaukee Brewers, St. Louis Cardinals, Cincinatti Reds, Pittsburgh Pirates—Al Green “Let’s Stay Together”
The entire Central, save the Cubs (I wasted time typing that second clause and typing this explanation) is locked in a race for the division championship. Pittsburgh is the furthest back at 3.5 games, and since June they’ve been baseball’s hottest team right alongside the Reds. The Brewers imploded, losing 10 of 11, just before the break while the Cards surged. If for no other reason than arguments over who brews the best shitty domestic beer and whose stadium looks best astride a strip-mine befouled river, these four need to stay close together ‘til the bitter end.

NL East

Washington Nationals—Eminem “Talkin’ 2 Myself”
But instead of feeling sorry for yourself do something ‘bout it/ admit you got a problem/ your brain is clouded/ you pouted long enough/ it isn’t them it’s you you fucking baby/ quit worrying about what they do and do Shady Nats’ outfielder needs to take Eminem’s post-addiction words to heart while trying to get back into the groove after a pretty rotten (by his lofty standards) first half. Harper logged just 137 plate appearances and missed much of the season’s first stanza due to injury. Since he’s been back, he can’t seem to find his stride at the plate, and being the Nats’ sole source of power from the left side of the plate (other lefty regulars combined for 13 HRs in the first half), that’s a big problem. He strikes out roughly a third of the time for an injury-ravaged team that has managed a first-place tie with the Braves through this point of the season. Cut those numbers down and turn on the power and “the new me’s back to the old me” and you’ll see Washington in October.

Atlanta Braves –Warren G. Feat Nate Dogg “Regulate”
The Braves’ anemic offense desperately needs some handy bat to step in and regulate. BJ Upton, Jason Heyward, Freddie Freeman, Anyone, Bueller, Bueller…? A stellar bullpen and a workhorse group of starters are begging for somebody besides catcher Evan Gattis and outfielder Justin Upton—who have a quarter of the team’s HRs and RBIs combined—to literally step up to the plate.

Carmel-by-the-Sea is the AT&T’s real celebrity

…Especially with no Bill Murray.

Carmel, California

Editor’s Note: This week is the AT&T Pro-am. For some it’s still the Crosby, and Jack Lemmon never did make the cut. For others, it’s a chance to catch up how the other half live now that the other half is the other .5 percent. For DPB, it’s a chance to simply see the magic green carpet on cliff’s edge that is the singular reason the California Coastal Commission came to be …but at the same time think, well, it still beats the hell out of timeshares.

This place. This Carmel.

This Carmel-by-the-Sea. Not to be confused with the Carmel-out-by-the-airport or the Carmel-near-the-water-treatment-facility, or the Carmel-right-off-the-freeway-next-to-the-business-park-and-the-Target-and-Acura-dealership.

No, it’s this Carmel. The one whose tree-protection laws are so impossible and outmoded, turns out, they were simply a century ahead of their time. Passed in 1916, the ordinance which still stands today, along with historic wind-bent pine, oak and Monterey cypress, prohibits the “cutting down, mutilating, removal of trees or shrubs on city-owned land and private property.”

And that, friends, is why if you’re in the market for a $3 million cottage with just enough room to fit a garden hoe and a can of paint in the garage and a pair of Wegners in the 600-square-foot living room; if you enjoy wrapping said protected fauna in netting and framing that will make your home resemble a Helmand Province bivouac should you decide to replace a deck’s rotting redwood with ipe or move the barbecue a few feet toward front gate; if you don’t want neighbors who are unsure whether they can afford it; if you revel in a place that is Custer’s Last Shuffle for the flickering Great Generation, a battleground of entitlement and hidden ATMs for the hand-wringing Boomers and an as-yet-undiscovered (though subject to change about 10-past-now) Barbary beer pong coast by the upwardly mobile Millennials migrating south from the Silicon Valley with their fortunes untold, unearned but certainly not under wraps in tow …you should buy in Carmel.

If, on the other hand, a granite countertop island that needs to be wiped with a Zamboni and wine bars and triple-headed showers in the master suite are your thing; if you don’t like small dogs and decide an alpaca or three to trim the weeds crawling up the Dijon clones is your vanity; if you disagree that pleats aren’t just for brunch anymore …you best look down the road a ways to Pacific Grove or Carmel Valley.

Because surviving Carmel’s Candy Land-inspired serpentine street layout requires all conform to its uniform individuality. Residents go as the village’s dwellings do, similar in their apparent uniqueness and charm and different in address only.

Want proof? The post office got so confused it will no longer deliver to individual homes. If Hansel and Gretel didn’t get pushed in the oven and instead to grew up on AutoCAD, its their Irish cottage post-adobe pink-wall-and-peaked-roof look that would best define the sea-side escape. Well, that and Frank Lloyd Wright’s Walker Residence, a copper-roofed coastal concoction built on a plot of land distinguished only by the simple fact that it juts out on a craggy corner of the Pacific better than just about any building could and is known, simply as The Point — because really, there isn’t any other beyond it.

Today’s Carmel, the tony toy village equivalent of one, single, long-standing, languid, Bloody Mary- and brisk-walk-infused Sunday morning; the only full-time population of 3,800 covered in Hollandaise sauce.

The only municipality with three sweaters (one for a mid-morning cordial, one to enjoy an afternoon cocktail, one to pair with an evening bottle of wine) for every man, woman and Wheaten Terrier (children sold separately).

Has it become more touristy over the years? Perhaps. But it seems residents who say that don’t really believe it. Else they’ve been saying it so long it’s become a part of the vernacular, like a comment on the weather, unrest with who’s currently in office or exercising caution when it comes to tech stocks. There are tourists, but they seem to disappear quickly from the town’s streets as midday shadows stitch together with afternoon permanence.

The truth of Carmel is it’s a vampire town.

When the sun bubbles down over the Pacific, there are no lights to go on on the Village main, which is Ocean Avenue. Its satellite streets with names like San Carlos, Mission and Santa Lucia all darken on cue like a curtain-drawn stage to back-of-the-house black. The moon provides the only constant light. Even the gas station, one of the only companies in town whose name is recognizable outside the living equivalent of your mother-in-law’s QVC-clearance Christmas hamlet, had to replace its neon sign with a carved logo — appropriately a sea shell.

There is the Pine Cone. The little rag that could and the paper of record here since 1915. An almost century-old tradition limping to the end of the flat-earthed medium with its rapid-fire letter writers and national treasure police blotter dutifully reporting these covert comings-and-goings: Monday, January 13, 2014: A concerned citizen reported hearing the sound of a loud argument coming from an apartment on Dolores Street. Contact made with the occupants of the unit. One of the occupants admitted to yelling withal on the phone with family members over another immediate family member suffering from a severe illness. The subject agreed to resolve the matter in a calm fashion. No further action required.

There is the ordinance to keep weekenders restricted to the uncomfortable spaces of the small shag-carpeted motels that dot the grid like green Monopoly houses, also in effect for decades. No home owner can rent his cottage to an interloper.

The law is currently being challenged by a number of upstarts, new to the area and the notion that VRBO does not inspire community and stewardship of the surrounds. This rule of Carmel will stand, just as the cottages and their tree groves have. Because time and technology don’t seem to stand a chance against tradition and, well, the kind of money that doesn’t require renters.

That said, Carmel has not been impervious to the many tiny influencers of the outside world. The guttural cough of the Benz’s exhaust has been replaced with the golf cart electric whir of the Tesla. Distracted texters have replaced blind birders as the greatest threat to crosswalk traffic. Denizens of the naked woman bronze sculpture galleries have made their way to more than a dozen creamy coastal chardonnay tasting rooms with the hard-to-distinguish cursive signage.

But the core of the town — from the Spyglass caddies, all raccoon eyes and drawn faces pouring slack jaws and insurance-free futures into IPA pints at Brophy’s Tavern, to their erstwhile duffer charges toasting to themselves quenching chapped lips in the refurbished snack-shack-sized bar at Hog’s Breath Inn — they remain the same as the town does, suspended in a kind of severe weather-free snow globe anime where one but wish it and it comes true.

As they file in this week, to get a glimpse at Tom Brady’s chin or Don Cheadle’s backhanded compliments and unforgiving backswing. To pour one out for clown prince Bill, who won’t be forced to do his Carl impression on the 17th this year. To the Fox newsers who stop shouting at the camera for a few afternoons to see what nature’s resolve looks like and maybe that’ll cease the identity theft canard for at least the time it takes to enjoy a round with (or on) Jeb Bush.

Look, it’s Lefty who’s out here for the golf, man, and Ray Romano who still has a look on his face that says “I can’t believe I lucked in to being …Ray Romano.” There’s Andy Garcia whose cheeky grimace can scare a ball (almost) into the cup and there’s Kenny G. Yes, you can make fun of Kenny G all you want, but the fact is only one of you is playing Pebble for free, has sold 75 million albums and can sustain a note for 45 minutes. Lest we forget a pair of Great Ones on the water, Gretzky of the frozen and Kelly Slater of the frothy, will busy themselves taking divots from the land.

There is a ghost story here about a distressed mistress who wandered off in the middle of the night in search of her lover. Since there are no lights to mark the way, she, simply clad in her nightgown, wandered in the late-night dampness of Carmel, disoriented and alone. She tired and perhaps crawled up under a tree or was swept away by the waiting sea. She was never seen or heard from again, but roams still the vining and glossy streets. On dark nights, she stomps in the puddles of the potholes and road rivets from the rooty giants above. Locals warn if you see her nightgown shining its bright light, do not follow.

To me, that is a story simply about someone who could have left and probably decided it better that she stay, so she did. Forever. And then there’s you. And there’s this place. This Carmel.

Go there this week and you will think, maybe I should stay too.

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Post by Death of the Press Box.