Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well, I feel better. I realize one win does not a juggernaut make. The Giants will still wake up this morning with the same abundant horn-o-plenty of troubles and woe they have suffered from all June. But it was a win, pilgrim and I am way into wins. The redemptive power of my set of mercenary rich guys beating their set of even richer guys is profound. The lesser angels of bitterness and shame can take the morning off. How sweet is that?

Speaking of angels, Villalona is playing ball in the AZL. I am normally reticent in believing 16 year old boys can do much other than sleep in their clothes, sleep in class and eat but Angel has to be more. All he has to do is become a perennial all star, put up MVP caliber numbers yearly and lead this team to an unprecedented string of World Series domination. And, I would like to see that starting with his September call up this season. No pressure, kid.

As stem winders go, Bochy's last two tantrums have displayed little of the maniacal performance art a Lou Piniella or the rosin bag grenade throwing dude in the Atlanta system can muster but he shows promise. It used to be you could buy a paint can of Bochy Vanilla right off the shelf. No mixing required. Now, there might just be a dash of Desert Sand in there. A few more bad calls at first and he may go all Antique White or, dare I say, a saucy shade of Egyptian Cotton. I am not banking on a full Beige yet but he still might make it to Bleached Tusk. A glossy latex finish is probably out of reach, though.