Hurd By The Bay

OK, truth serum time. I’m no hockey expert. I covered the Sharks for parts of three seasons. I soaked up hours of hockey conversation with current general manager Doug Wilson (a good thing) and Dean Lombardi ( maybe not so good). I had wonderful teachers such as Jeff Norton and Darryl Sutter and Mike Ricci. But I never played the sport, didn’t follow it real closely, in fact, until I was assigned to do so.

But from what I know and from what I watched, the Sharks’ latest exit from the playoffs was different from the others. On the one hand, they rarely get swept. On the other, you rarely sweeps that are as close and as one-sided at the same time. The difference was that the Blackhawks were quicker and seemingly more alert. That’s not to say the Sharks lost the intensity battle, but one thing about sports is that the higher you go, the faster the action. The Sharks seemed too often to be watching the action than dictating it. You correct that simply through experience.

Now, the big questions: What to do with unrestricted free agents-to-be Evgeni Nabokov and Patrick Marleau? Nabokov is a great regular-season goalie , and he hardly deserves all the blame for this sweep. That said, your team goes up 2-0 in an elimination game, and you have to win. Too often in the 10 years that Nabby has been the Sharks’ goalie, they haven’t won those type of games. Thus, he’s probably played his last game for the Teal. Marleau, however, should be considered back in the mix, because the Blackhawks had no answer for him. A three-year offer, perhaps with an option, is the right offer for the Sharks to make.

--- Dany Heatley was conspicuously absent. He may have been hurt, and we should find out today how badly? But the Sharks (or any NHL team) can’t go all the way without all the cylinders firing.

--- Sharks would be really smart to bring back other UFA’s Manny Malholtra and Scott Nichol. Without them, they don’t get past the second round --- again --- this year.

--- I’m starting to think the Giants could go 108-54 and the A’s 54-108 but the A’s would still own the interleague series. Another sweep this weekend, and a great life story.

One subject only today. Dallas Braden’s perfecto. The buzz is still loud more than 24 hours after it happened. Carl Steward and Susan Slusser did a wonderful job capturing the moment in a way only news writers know how to do, and terrific columns from all over the country.

It inspired a wonderful question on a sports-talk show, whose host is perhaps the best in the business (more on that in days to come). Here it is: When was your last perfect day?!! For my money, it was the same day as Mr. Braden’s. Got to spend an entire afternoon cooking with a person who cares about me more than any other. (Cooking, by the way, is a pastime that eludes most of us who are married or devoted to the game.) For years, the only place my mother and I didn’t struggle with our

relationship was in front of a baseball game, and we saw some mighty special things (Nolan Ryan's sixth no-hitter; Rickey Henderson's record-breaker.) To do so all these years later without even a radio in the background was a wonderful experience. Then to turn on the TV to see the final two outs — well, it seemed there was something (divinely inspired.)

Another question, this one by me: What would be the coolest thing, besides a perfect game or no-hitter, in baseball to see in person? My top three:

1. Four home runs in a game (Can’t imagine)
2. Cycle (covered Eric Byrnes’)
3. An extra-inning affair in Game 7 of the World Series (I should be so lucky).

Not crazy about this nonsense about “the 209.” Good for Braden for having pride in his roots. But shouldn’t we all make a better attempt to understand each other in a way that goes beyond identifying ourselves by area codes? Or, to put it another way, nobody on the A’s infield or in the stands or in the Rays dugout was concerned with Braden’s nationality, background or area code when he threw his final pitch. I was always told baseball mirrors life and that life mirrors baseball.

OK, so now I will be able to remember a big goal Patrick Marleau has scored. After a decade, I would hope so.

You say I’m not a big Patty fan? Guilty as charged. Nothing in particular, really. The guy has got ridiculous talent --- speed, soft hands, great vision, a feel for the game --- and without him, the Sharks would not have become one of the most consistent of the really good teams in the NHL.

But the Sharks have said their mission is not to be really good consistently. It is, rather, to be a champion. They’ve been talking that way since I covered the team at the start of century, and for years, they’ve told their customers that Marleau is a guy who can get them there.

As the years have gone by, I’ve become more and more skeptical. And I remain that way, because in victory and in loss, Marleau always seemed to be the same. I don’t want to say he struck me as a JaMarcus-type, detached and uncaring, because 1) I’m not ever around him and 2) his performance in the regular season has proven that would be an unfair assessment.

That said, I’ve just never gotten the feeling that his motor runs as hard as it needs to run to lead your team to great heights in the playoffs. It says much that for close to 10 years, Marleau has been considered the Sharks’ most talented player but that with Marleau, the team has won seven playoff games in one season only twice previously.

Interesting thing is that both the Sharks and Marleau seem to be presented with a new opportunity to paint the canvas. The Sharks have established themselves as the team to beat in the Western Conference, just as any team that takes a 3-0 lead on the New York Yankees in any baseball playoff series does the same. Marleau, and his former invisible teammate Joe Thornton, have shaken off some of the old criticisms. It’s as if the epitaph still has yet to be written.

With free agency fast approaching, what seemed to be a certainty among fans --- namely, the wish to see Marleau earn his riches elsewhere --- might be back up for debate. Should make for a fascinating few weeks, especially since the bandwagon already is getting bigger.

Pondering the buzz around the San Francisco Bay Area on a Monday while trying to remember a single playoff goal Patrick Marleau has ever scored that was … well, memorable.

--- Is it too soon to call Joe Pavelski the greatest playoff player in Sharks history? The center continued his ridiculous playoff hot streak and put his team in position to put some of their old playoff demons to rest. Pavelski is only one point shy of matching Marleau’s total in the 2005-06 playoffs --- ironically, the last time the Sharks held a two-game lead in the second round of a series; they blew that series against the Edmonton Oilers --- and his next goal will set a franchise record for the most in a single playoffs. More important, Pavelski has changed the mo-Joe around the Sharks and given them the feel of a team that can go deep in the playoffs. That’s a new development.

--- Pavelski is keeping some pretty nice company this playoff season, and the Sharks can take heart in what happened to the last team with a player who scored multiple goals in three straight playoff games.

---- Just as important in the Sharks’ Game 2 win was getting the other Joe on the board. Joe

Thornton may not consider himself a goal-scorer, but he’s gonna have to score his fair share if this team is to go where it wants.

--- Not sure I agree with KNBR’s Damon Bruce and Bay Area News Group’s Cam Inman that Pavelski is ready to have the building named after him, as they discussed in an interview I'll post as soon as the station does. But I do agree big-time with Bruce’s opinion that a great team takes this series by the throat in Game 3. The Sharks’ history suggests it won’t happen. As it is, the Sharks have set themselves up for a colossal breakthrough or an epic collapse.

--- How starved is the Bay for a winner? Sharks talk is even outdoing discussion about the Raiders and JaMarcus Russell, who did some positive things in the Silver and Black’s minicamp.

Pondering the buzz around the San Francisco Bay Area as we head into the weekend, and I wonder how a guy can have “Little” in one nickname and “Big” in another.

--- Joe Pavelski has made the Sharks his team during the team’s first eight games of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The Sharks have a long history of folding under the pressure of Stanley’s looming presence, and just as Joe Thornton and Patrick Marleau were doing their usual playoff thing (namely, nothing significant), Joe-Pa has exploded for seven goals, four assists and plus-six, all team-leading totals in the playoffs. He scored the overtime game-winner against Colorado two nights after Dan Boyle's fiasco created a 2-1 series deficit -- the type of adversity that normally sinks the Sharks. The line he centers with Devin Setoguchi and Ryane Clowe on the wings has replaced the Thornton-Marleau-Heatley line as the team’s best (in fact, Marleau’s status is iffy even if he is playing, and Heatley hasn’t skated on it for a bit).

--- Anyway, Pavelski’s two goals and an assist Thursday night ended the opening-game-of-series misery for the Sharks, and showed they might be ready this year to put in the effort night after night it

will take to beat the Red Wings. It also has increased debate around here about the nickname that best suits him. What do you prefer? I like “Lil’ Joe” (after the old Bonanza character)because at heart, Pavelski is a winner. But “The Big Pavelski” isn't bad, either. Comment below.

--- The other big chatter has to do with the Giants and Tim Lincecum, and it’ll be interesting to see how that team responds in the wake of a disappointing loss to the Phillies on Wednesday. The Giants lost four straight after their only other mini-controversy --- the team’s decision not to retaliate immediately against Vicente Padilla after he beaned Aaron Rowand in the face ---- and while the latest one wasn’t as polarizing, there’s no question the loss lingered. Lin-Cy-cum was two outs away from a dominant complete game, when a one-out walk caused manager Bruce Bochy to yank him. The game got away (sometimes ball is about nothing but luck), and Lincecum got a no-decision.

--- Question for the readers. If you’re Lincecum, do you go into Bochy’s office after that game and tell him essentially, “Next time I want to finish!”? And if you’re Bochy, would you respect or be angry with a pitcher for saying something like that? Myself, I think The Franchise has earned the right to make that call, even if it is April.

--- On the other side of the Bay, the A’s are approaching irrelevance. Until they solve their injury woes, they won’t win, and already, a fourth straight season is being torpedoed. Susan Slusser has some specific numbers in her story. I’m no math wizard, but just using those numbers against the length of the regular season, then the A’s are averaging a disabled list addition every week and a half. Throw the six weeks of spring training into the addition, and it’s about once ever three weeks. Ridiculous, and no end in sight.

--- Finally, a nice story on the potential new owner of the Warriors.

Just ran across one of those news items that makes those of us who are old-fashioned wonder if everything we were taught about sports and discipline and how it molds what’s right and wrong occurred on some far off planet our parents must’ve made us visit when we were kids.

Or, to put it another way, a whole half-game suspension for Florida linebacker Brandon Spikes??!!

Wow, that’ll teach him.

You may have seen the highlights of Spikes trying to gouge out the eyes of Georgia running back Washaun Ealey on Saturday. This is one of those things on the football field, apparently, that is as much a breach of conduct as a major-league hitter laughing at a pitcher after a home run.

Anyway, coach Urban Meyer, after initially wanting to “just move on,” suspended Spikes after watching a replay of the play. Now here’s my question for Meyer? What do you expect Spikes to learn from this? More important, what do you expect Spikes’ teammates to learn.

Here’s what I’m guessing Spikes will learn: Keep your hands outside the face mask at all times. Oh, and I’m a star, so even if I mess up, I’ll get leniency, because of who I am.

Here’s what his teammates will learn: Coach’s punishments are light. We can get away with ...

Once upon a time, star athletes would occasionally have to pay a severe punishment as an example to others as to what not to do.

Missing half of a college football game doesn’t qualify. And if gouging out a guys eyes is “as bad as it gets” as I heard some talking head say today, what trangression would warrant losing an entire game.

Thanks Urban Meyer for reinforcing what we already know. Punishment, when a star is involved, often is in words only.

Here’s how the bad start to a day turns good: You find yourself, hours after oversleeping, jamming to the riffs of Van Halen’s debut album --- aptly named “Van Halen” — as your boys alternately take a swing at the baseball with their Wii remote controls and then turn those controls into makeshift guitars.

This was my Sunday afternoon, and I bring it up because it got me thinking about the way most of the folks I know spend non-summer Sundays in this country. It’s the same way most folks spend it, I imagine.

See if this scenario rings a bell: You find your favorite (name your favorite player/team) jersey, make sure your remote control is handy, load up on chips, maybe even add a six pack of your favorite cold beverage to the list, and you sit and watch football. All day.

Hey, good for you. I’ve got nothing against a Sunday afternoon spent watching guys oversized, overly fast men running around trying to kill each other. The NFL has become our national pastime, our non-church gathering if you will, and there’s a lot that’s good about that.

But what I find interesting is just how much fun we’re missing when we devote one entire day on a weekend devoted entirely to football. This may be a West Coast thing, because games start so early (10 a.m.) and run all afternoon. But even in the East, where games start at 1 p.m., you wonder if our obsession with the NFL has obscured our need to use one of our free days per week to bond with folks.

Like family, for instance.

This may not apply to you. Perhaps your family is one that bonds through a devotion to their favorite team. That said, there is so much more that fathers, mothers and children could be doing on a Sunday afternoon besides watching football. Maybe a walk in the park.

Maybe a drive somewhere. Maybe some quality time with our children rocking out to our favorite rock album as a kid.

Now, I realize skipping a Sunday of football might be an easier thing for me. The Raiders and the 49ers have been embarrassing themselves for several years now, so when those of us out here decide to do something else, we're often not missing much.

The point is, it might be worth your time one or two Sunday’s a year to turn the game off. Amazing how many children you see outside playing on a Sunday. Once in a while, perhaps we ought to turn the game off and join them.

I've never really understood the popularity of golf. Both watching it or playing it. Still don't.

I say this because the Presidents Cup is in San Francisco this week, so every media professional I know is drooling like a bulldog. Friends are dipping into the college funds to get tickets. And golf pros are, well, being golf pros.

My friend Buzz relayed a story about an incident during a practice round. One golfer, Geoff Ogilvy, a former U.S. Open champ (who knew?), who was about to hit a 6-foot putt. He went through his routine, lined it up, etc., when off went a cell phone. Ogilvy fired the evil eye. He lined it the putt again. Again the cell phone went off. Three times this happened.

Ogilvy, apparently, was ready to sentence the offender to death, if you were to judge by his eyes.

Turned out, an elderly marshal couldn't figure out how to turn off his phone.

Which brings me back to the original point. I just don't get the allure. A baseball player has to hit a ball that's moving upwards of 90 mph with 55,000 people screaming, and a golfer can't handle a little bit of noise?

Here is a sport that flaunts wealth, is a status symbol for class fragmentation and is all about the individual (90 percent of the time anyway). And even when a Presidents Cup or something of that ilk is held, the event is still a massive stage for jackass behavior.

As far as playing the game, just watch Robin Williams in his "Live on Broadway" show (see below) from a few years ago. Tells you everything you need to know.

Funny thing, my oldest son, Clayton, is totally into golf, so I won't be able to ignore it forever. If you can please tell me the allure, I'm open for suggestions. But frankly, I'd really rather he prefer to fly a kite.

As the sports world reacts to the two-year sentence given former Giants wide receiver Plaxico Burress on Tuesday, a question for all of you to contemplate:

What would’ve become of your life had you $2.1 million in your pocket --- GUAR-ON-TEED!! --- at age 16?

Excuse me while I think about my own life and shudder!

This, boys and girls, is our question today, because just as a Super Bowl hero with a daughter and family couldn’t handle his fame and fortune, neither, too, could a poor kid from the Dominican Republic who never really did a thing to earn it.

This Giant goes by the name Angel Villalona, and if you haven’t heard of him, don’t worry, you will. Villalona could turn out to be the first notable athlete in this sports-meets-entertainment-equals-unfettered-mess era to go down as a murderer. Even if he’s not convicted of the charges he faces in the death of 25-year-old Mario Felix de Jesus Velete, Villalona has shown himself incapable of making smart decisions.

And just to review: When a professional sports team is paying an athlete $2.1 million before he takes a step on a professional field, it's the athlete's responsibility to be smart and to be safe. If only teams gave money out based on clued-in vs. clue-less.

Then again, what should we expect?

When I was 16, I was ready to fly the nest, my parents knew nothing, I had all the skills necessary to navigate life and I made only wise decisions. I never drove fast, never did reckless things, never thought about what I said or to whom I said it and always assumed the sun would shine on my you-know-where the next day.

Guess I’m funny that way.

OK, back to reality. I think we’d all agree --- at least those of us who have lived a little --- that none of us really knows anything at 16, much less when were sidled with the responsibility that comes with $2.1 million. And especially were we sidled with the responsibility that comes with trying to lift an entire family out of the poverty in the Dominican Republic and other downtrodden environments from which more and more athletes come?

Don’t get me wrong. Some of us do understand by then that the world is not about us. Some of us would realize by then just what would come with gifts such as the ones Villalona possesses.

But most of us come into the world saying, “Mine, mine, mine,” and have not, by 16 figured out that life was not intended to be lived that way. With that selfishness comes a gigantic stage for doing some really dumb, life-ruining things.

Which is why the arrest of Villalona and the punishment of Burress really don’t have to be viewed as a “sad day,” as the football Giants termed it, but rather as a hopeful one. Burress represents a cautionary tale that star athletes really can go to jail, and Villalona is the living example of why nobody should get millions until they’ve “earned” their millions.

Too bad we’ve forgotten that somewhere along the way. Otherwise, Burress and Villalona probably would have much brighter futures.

Nice to see that while I was buried in the boxes of a move, a few things occurred last week that provided faith that perhaps the apocalypse might not be on us. The one that stood out to me:

The acquittal in Louisville, Ky., of high school football coach David Jason Stinson, who had been charged in connection with the death of 15-year-old Max Gilpin from heat stroke in 2008.

We live in a world where high school coaches face more parent interference and less support from their school districts than ever before. To send a message that they can be sued for tragedies that occur in a game or in practice would only add more fuel to the arguments that we're too litigious a people already. Nice to know that some tragedies remain only that ---- tragedies with no explanation and no adequate way to fill in the void created by the pain of them. Much sympathy to Gilpin's family, whose pain must be more than I can imagine, but suing somebody isn't going to make it go away.

Having said that, can we all agree that kids who need an extra drink of water during a hot practice aren't weak? Bodies cry out for what they need. I've never quite seen the benefit of having that body pushed to the edge of collapse. If coaches do practice what they preach, they'll take this lesson and apply it going forward.

By the way, the high school kids in the school district where I live have had to pay $400 to pay football this fall. Yeah, nothing about the way our country and states (in this case, California) do things needs to be changed.

Every so often, my almost-7-year-old son, Clayton, says or does something that makes me wonder whether he, indeed, has part of my gene pool. Example: He showed up for a recent overnight visit wearing a New York Yankees hat.

Seriously made me wonder whether the kid should remain in the will, lol.

Now you gotta understand, my mother and her side of the family all hail from a small town in Connecticut that's the halfway point where Yankee and Red Sox nations collide. So I've spent a lifetime listening to the obnoxiousness that results in rooting for the Microsoft's of the world. I choose not to partake.

If I had my druthers, I'd rather my children not drink the juice (no pun intended), either. So I asked this child of mine, "Clayton, how can you possibly root for the Yankees."

He says, "I like Derek Jeter."

Kid's pretty smart for 6. Tonight or sometime this weekend, Jeter will become the most prolific hitter in Yankees history, and there's no player I'd rather have my son emulate.

I was blessed enough to cover baseball during the Great Shortstop Debate earlier this decade. And I remember specifically a conversation I had while watching Miguel Tejada wreak havoc on the Bombers at the old Yankee Stadium while a member of the A's. And I remember specifically telling my uncle that Jeter was the least effective shortstop from a group that included Tejada, A-Rod and Nomar Garciaparra.

"You'll see who the last one standing is," he said.

Boy, I wish he had been wrong. But what fueled my uncle's argument, and he was dead right, was that Jeter "does it the right way," and that "those guys outlast the others."

Let's see. Jeter has never been arrested. Never had shady pics show up on the Internet. Never has incurred the wrath of his peers.

I interviewed Jeter on a couple of occasions, but only once in one-on-one. It was amazing how he steered every question about his own individual accomplishments into a topic about the greater good --- namely, winning games and winning championships. Jeter already has won four of them, and No. 5 is there for the taking in October.

Now, almost every player will say that it's all about the winning. But in reality, only a handful really mean it. If in actuality, Jeter is one of those, then he not only is the greatest shortstop in Yankees history, he's the greatest actor in the history of American theatre.

I choose to believe that he is, quite simply, the antithesis of the modern athlete, someone who's old school in motivation and actions. There's a reason he's the heart and soul of America's most famous franchise, and thank goodness he measures up to the expectation in every way.

So it is that Clayton is off to a great start in making sound judgements. His Yankees hat? Hanging nicely on the door.

Amazing! On Monday evening, almost four full days removed from the ugliness that ensued on the famous blue-turf field in Boise, Idaho, highlight clips showing the LeGarrette Blount melee were still being shown, and it got me thinking.

At what point will one athlete attempt to kill another one?

Go ahead, call me an alarmist. Nothing I haven't heard before. Besides, I'd be thrilled to look back at this post in a decade and say, "Guilty." In fact, when I mentioned to a few co-workers that not only would such a scenario not surprise me but that we're a helluva lot closer to it than we think, I got that look that says, "How many times were you dropped on your head as a child?"

But having said that, I imagine I would've had the same reaction had I said, not all that long ago, "School shootings will become a regular enough occurrence that they won't shock us."

Anyway, it just seems to me that there is a certain inevitability to the increasing lack of sportmanship we're seeing at every level of sports. Maybe I'm an alarmist, but I also know we live in a society that's among the most violent in a world that has become more and more impersonal with each new "phone" a computer company puts on the market.

Combine that dynamic with a media that markets to the individual more and more, and it's not beyond the realm of craziness to think an athlete will come along who's just narcissistic enough to pack heat to use at a time when things get heated.

I've had the pleasure of meeting more than one sports psychologist during my career, and let's just say it's an idea that's not unique to me. Gun play is a daily occurrence in rough neighborhoods throughout this land of ours, a sad reality that has created generations of youngsters who have become desensitized to the gruesome nature of it. Those who escape it, particularly the athletes, often do so through luck or because of protection provided by those who are wielding the guns in the first place.

But imagine if those voices who have served to protect the athlete suddenly get in his ear with intentions that aren't so pleasant?

Ludicrous? Perhaps. But no more so than the notion that a postgame handshake between college students would set off a free-for-all. Or that the NBA would witness a brawl spill over into its seats, as it did when members of the Indiana Pacers and Detroit Pistons had their throwdown at The Palace in 2005.

Imagine the next one, and then consider the world in which we live. All it takes is one idiot with a lot of athletic ability.

So call me crazy. But given where we've been and where we seem to be headed, I've got an awful feeling I may someday say, "Told you so."

Tell me if this ever happens to you. I spend a morning listening to sports talk, an afternoon watching SportsCenter and a night watching some television --- all while mixing the purity, joy, frustration and downright exhaustion of parenthood --- and I come away wondering if Sports Illustrated was on to something when they started looking for signs of the apocalypse.

Or, to put it another way, sometimes, I just don't get it.

Examples:

--- Spent two hours watching a VH1 special on the Beatles Anthology (Part II) listening to John, Paul, George and Ringo reflect on messages of love, peace, God, enlightenment, etc., and was left with the overwhelming confirmation that good works come from caring about others. The special was followed by ... "The T.O. Show". Anybody else see the disconnect?

--- Meantime, T.O.'s former teammate, Pacman Jones will not be playing in the Canadian Football League after all. I covered hockey for two years and got exposed to the Canadian culture, and always came away feeling like those people had their heads together in a way that we in the U.S. don't. Intuition confirmed.

--- Makes me wonder what the Great White North would make of Michigan football coach Rich Rodriguez". The man has had a shady beginning with the Wolverines, left West Virginia under bad terms and during his Clemson days was apparently associated with a guy who's now a banned Clemson booster and accused felon. Institutional due diligence apparently doesn't mean what it once did.

--- Speaking of which, late Michigan legend Bo Schembechler was tight for years with former Ohio State coach Woody Hayes. My former father-in-law knew Woody well from his days at Dennison University in Ohio, and as bad a rap as Hayes gets, know this: He and Bo kept tabs on every one of their former players after they left school. Think Rich Rodriguez does that?

--- Talked to Indiana hoops legend Steve Alford on a flight one time, and he intimated the same thing about Bob Knight.

--- I'm not saying Woody, Bob and Bo were perfect. I'm just saying they must've been doing something right.

--- Put it another way, none of them would've put up with T.O., no matter how good he was.

--- Would love to hear what Curt Schilling has to say about this topic. Guy has expressed interest in taking over the seat created by the death of Ted Kennedy. Not sure if that's one of the more hopeful things I've heard or one of the scariest.

BarryZito: Thinking Twittering is for twits!

Before I begin, a disclaimer: The above is NOT a Twitter post by the Giants' $126 million man. The 2002 Cy Young Award winner quit using tweets to toot his totally tubular totality a while ago (and Barry, from all of us who still consider the written word something of importance, thanks). But I gotta believe that if he were still using this 21st century mode of public communication, the above wouldn't be a bad place to start.

Hell, if I were Barry Zito, that's what I'd be posting.

Nothing against the fine folks at Twitter. The company has opened the door to new and entertaining ways for professional athletes to embarrass themselves, and anything that can make arrogant millionaires look silly can't be all bad. But I'm from a school of increasingly vocal folks who a) don't have a need to know what a famous human is thinking at all times and b) shake our heads at the ego-driven thought process it takes to think that we would.

But if I were Zito, I'd look at the back of my baseball card --- or click on my baseball-reference.com splits --- and notice that since I eliminated the whole Twittering thing, my baseball life has gotten a whole lot better.

The San Jose Mercury News reported July 24 that Zito had decided to close his Twitter account around the All-Star break because, as he told the paper, "I thought it'd be better to use (the field) as my outlet." Now, what stopping Twitter has to do with rediscovering long-missing "stuff" we'll never know, but you can't argue with results. Since the All-Star break, Zito has gone 4-2, lowered his ERA from 5.01 to 3.94 by allowing 12 earned runs in 56 1-3 innings and lowered his WHIP to 1.30, the lowest it's been all season.

On Saturday night, Zito dazzled the Colorado Rockies in a 5-3 win night that helped the Giants' plight in the National League wild-card race, finishing two outs shy of a shutout.

Zito hasn't been this filthy for this long a stretch since pay phones were prevalent.

Now, putting a halt on Twitter may have nothing to do with any of this. But if it starts a trend away from the increasingly impersonal way in which we communicate and gets athletes thinking that not all of us are pining for their next great revelation, then give Zito another $126 mil.

It's worth noting, by the way, that one of Zito's best friends on the Giants is closer Brian Wilson, he of the Twitter-gone-bad club. Wilson tweeted earlier this season that he'd been out late when, in actuality (he said), he was in his hotel room. The whole thing caused a mild ruckus, and Wilson closed his account shortly afterward.

Wilson, incidentally, is third in the NL in saves.

So let this be an educational opportunity for you Antonio Cromartie, before you go ripping the San Diego Chargers' food again. And you, Mario Henderson, the Raiders offensive tackle who deftly tweeted that on the first day off his diet, "my stomach hurts cuz I ate too much burgerking." (That's the Raiders in a nutshell, but I digress).

In short, the world may be Twittering its tail off, but there is a place for those who want to stay silent, and it seems to bring with it some pretty good karma. Zeet down on the Tweet. Has a nice ring to it.

My heart's a little heavy this morning. I've been in a nostalgic mode all week, anyway, pondering the whole should-Pete Rose-be-forgiven thing, and now we've lost the Kennedy patriarch.

Not that I'm gonna go on a political slant, but the death of Ted Kennedy is a monumental event in our country, even if not everybody realizes it, and it got me thinking. Imagine what the man must've carried?

Wonder if it was as burdensome as the baggage Pete totes?

OK, so maybe Pete Rose and Ted Kennedy have never been objects of comparison, but they don't call this thing "Break from the Hurd" for nothing. And to me, their stories are a bit similar in that they stir the debate about when punishment should end and where forgiveness starts.

Take the Senator. Forty years ago last month, Kennedy drove a car off a bridge, and the passenger in his car, 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne, drowned. That would seem to be a far worse transgression than what the all-time hits leader was punished for 20 years ago this month --- gambling on his team to win a few games.

The difference, of course, is in the respective aftermaths. Kennedy spoke of the Chappaquiddick incident immediately, took responsibility for his actions (sort of), and had his most productive years in the Senate in the four decades that ensued. He was, in every sense of the word, redeemed.

Rose, on the other hand, remains a lonely, almost pathetic figure. He refused for almost 15 years to acknowledge he bet on baseball, and when he did finally admit it, he was about as eloquent as somebody with only a baseball education would be expected to be. But by acknowledging the truth, Rose did take responsibility (sort of) for what he did.

So because Ted Kennedy was born to America's royal family and had the advantages inherent in such a thing, he gained some eloquence and was allowed to continue his life's work? And because Pete was born to a blue-collar family and knew only the code of the clubhouse, he's not?

Not sure how I feel about this.

On one hand, I'm from the old school that says sometimes it's important and purposeful to use someone as an example. My generation grew up hearing cautionary tales about Shoeless Joe Jackson. My son's generation will hear the stories of Pete Rose.

That's important. Sports is a metaphor for what happens in life, and some mistakes can't be undone.

Take my own example. I torpedoed what was a pretty good life situation ---- marriage, two kids a dog, a beautiful home and wealth --- by making some awful choices. That will stay with me forever, as it should, and my kids should use it as an example of what not to do.

On the other, I feel safe saying that Pete and I aren't the only ones among us who have who have screwed up royally. And if my own experience has taught me anything, it's the importance of forgiveness to the healing of everybody concerned, and the miracle that is redemption.

Rose deserves it. Because no matter how ineloquent he's been in expressing his own humanly broken views, he has borne the burden of living with his actions for nearly one-third of his life, and no question it has probably changed him. He no doubt would welcome the chance to repair some of the damage he's caused to the game he loves probably more than all else, and who's to say that he might not do some wonderful things if given the chance?

All of which leads us back to the Senator, who certainly could devote a good portion of his memoirs to living with sadness. The man lost all three brothers, including two to assassanations, and all but one sister in his lifetime. He endured a plane crash that killed an aide. He has watched members of the Kennedy's next generation die.

Which is to say his heart carried heavy aches that would seem to make Rose's own albatrosses light by comparison. But at least he didn't bear his troubles alone.

Rose, however, continues to tote his troubles solo, and somehow, that just doesn't seem right.

Perhaps on this day of rememberance, it's worth reminding ourselves that we all deserve a second chance, no matter how awkwardly we might ask for one.

I'm guessing the Senator would have agreed.