Barry

Well, it's official: The San Francisco Giants are American sport's most spineless organization. They went ahead and brought back the biggest cancer in recent baseball history to sit in or hobble around play left field. d

Did anyone expect anything else? Of course not. Giants owner Peter Magowan is, as SF Chronicle columnist Ray Ratto told us, Barry's ATM and Barry's leather recliner. It's disappointing, it's frustrating -- and it's the only thing that could possibly have happened one way or the other.

Seriously. Look at the hard-on the franchise has for BB, who would be challenged to crack the lineup in an average AL East team (who would you rather have as DH -- BB or David Ortiz?).
It's a chubby the size of the Bay Bridge, one rivaled only by the fawning Giants fans. I was there when he hit 715 out in May, and you would have thought it was the Second Coming. At a 75 percent off sale. With naked waitresses. Or something. You get the idea. The place went completely ape.
Within seconds, the club unfurled these giant banners in the outfield (replete with silhouettes of The Man himself, which you can see to the right), and within minutes, were hawking via the Jumbotron "Official Barry Bonds 715 packages -- yours for $32.99." Sickening.
I coped by hiding my head in my hands or my beer cup for the rest of the afternoon, and then exacted my revenge in August by cheering heartily when Bonds got thrown out of the game mid at-bat in the ninth inning.
Bonds was, at a time, one of the top 10 baseball players of all time. But he has also been, from day one, a capital a-hole. That's been chronicled time and again. Half the people I've met on the West Coast have some terrible story of Bonds being a jerk to kids, kicking puppies or beating up nuns or whatever. And he used steroids -- but honestly, I could care less about that. That's the beauty of it.

The only thing keeping Bonds on the field (other than $16,000,000 to nap in the clubhouse, limp around left and keep the Bay Area tides in check with the gravitational pull of his giant swollen head) is Hank Aaron's record. He just HAS to have it -- and he very well might. But it'll be hollow -- pure masturbation. Everywhere he goes for the rest of his life, he won't be Mr. Home Run Record. He'll be Mr. Jerk-ass Cheater -- and it'll tear him apart. Karma's a bitch.

Jan. 25 -- "The (local) fans (or lack thereof)"

These girls are good — where are the fans?

It’s an ancient basketball scene, one repeated on courts from here to Springfield, Mass., and on to Lithuania and back again.

A player steps to the foul line. Bounces the ball once, maybe twice. Lifts it up, takes the shot — when the graceful motion is interrupted by a shrill scream of “BRICK!!” from the stands. The ball goes up, the ball goes down. Miss.

Familiar enough, right? Well, not exactly. This happened to West High’s Whitney Howard on Tuesday — in her own gym.

Granted, it was a Tuesday evening, and the Wolf Pack were playing McNair — not exactly a Tyson-Ali matchup, but still a league game West needed to win. For whatever reason, the freshman and sophomore McNair players hanging around the gym — just waiting for varsity to end so they could go home — outnumbered West’s home fans, so whatever they felt like saying, they said. And it was heard. With an echo effect.

West went on to win the game by over 30, and the Wolf Pack’s attention wasn’t so diverted that they couldn’t hit 25 free throws, but if I were on that team, I’d be royally annoyed. We’re supposed to be at home, right? I’m guessing the favor is returned when West goes on the road, but still. That ain’t right.

This phenomenon is less marked across town at Tracy High’s Swenson Gym, but then only because it’s smaller. You can hear almost everything during timeouts during some Bulldog games, but West’s Den is like Carlsbad Caverns when it’s empty. Or like a Ricola commercial. You get the idea.

“We don’t seem to have that many fans,” Howard told me yesterday. “It doesn’t really bug me as a player when people yell during free throws, but it bothers me when the team doesn’t have that much support.”

“I know when we win more, we seem to get more and more fans,” she added. “I think people like to see winning teams.”

And that’s the rub. Home court is supposed to mean something. West is on a seven-game winning streak, and there’s 3100 kids in the school. What’s it going to take?

n Power to us
The CIF Sac-Joaquin Section released its first playoff basketball power rankings (now there’s a mouthful) of the season Monday. It’s still early, but there’s some legit hope for postseason hoops in our fine little town — the Wolf Pack girls sit at third, and the Bulldogs are close behind at sixth. Both won their first games this week but face big tests tonight.

For the boys, it’s a little less likely — the Tracy boys sit at 22nd, and the West boys are at 14th, but a strong finish would mean nothing but good things.

Food for thought: the top team is Modesto, whom the Bulldogs came within nine points of upsetting in the Winter Holiday Classic.

There’s a lot more hoop left to be played, but here’s hoping for some playoffs.

n It’s in the books — somewhere

Tracy sophomore Marlene MacMillan put up another double-double Tuesday against Chavez in Stockton. She had 12 points — and a ridiculous 23 rebounds. No one seems to know for certain if that’s a school record, but all agree if it isn’t, it’s darn close. So, I guess we won’t know until I spend a week or two digging through decades and decades of newspaper archives — or until Marlene hauls down 30. Guess which is more likely?

Jan. 18 -- "The Tuck"

I’m not one to perpetuate stereotypes, but there’s at least one group in the Bay Area with a generalization that’s hard to deny: Raiders fans.

They’re nuts.

I come from the Boston area, and while we can get worked up over the Red Sox, it’s nothing — NOTHING — compared to what Oak-town fans do. I’ve never once worn facepaint or a skull mask to a game, and I didn’t know anyone who has — or even thought about it — until I moved out here.

And you don’t need to go to the Black Hole on a Sunday to know it’s true. Just look around town. People wear their gear, sure, but it’s all over their cars and houses, too. Flags, garage doors, you name it. Some of it is stuff I didn’t even know you could merchandise.

So Raiders fans are passionate. Raiders fans are dedicated. But are they forgetful? Are they vengeful? Or maybe, Zen?

Five years ago tomorrow — Jan. 19, 2002 — was the day of the now-infamous AFC divisional playoff game between the favored Raiders and the upstart New England Patriots.

As all of Raider Nation knows, the game hinged on a Charles Woodson hit on Tom Brady. The ball popped loose and the Raiders recovered, but the apparent fumble was ruled an incomplete pass thanks to something called the “tuck rule.” The Pats went on to win, thanks to an Adam Vinatieri field goal through the swirling ice and snow.

Since The Tuck, the Pats have won three championships (and are on their way to a fourth). The Raiders made it to the Super Bowl a year later but got stomped and have slid into the role of AFC laughingstock.

So, I wanted to know what The Tuck means to the Raider faithful five long years down the line. So, I went out and asked some Raiders fans. Every one I could find, actually. Here’s a sampling of what I heard, and their Raider cred, when available.

Lance Wills, Tracy Raiders dad: “Oh, it was a bogus call. It was a serious bogus call … but I’m not totally mad about it. I live and learn. Really, that was the break the Raiders needed to get to the Super Bowl, but other than that, I don’t trip much off of it. I still think about it occasionally, though … when 49er fans bring it up, it makes my blood boil.”

Jesse Gregory, 58, season ticket holder since 1970: “Oh man … well, you know, it’s whoever the NFL wants to win … but oh God, that was stupid. What a stupid call. Charles Woodson knocks the ball loose … and then the call. Yeah, right. Tuck this!”

Matthew Palomino, Raider jacket and Raider polo shirt: “It sucked. That was our year. We should have won the Super Bowl. Everyone knows it was a fumble.”

Rich Vaccarezza: “That’s when it all changed … you can compare it to Bill Buckner’s ball through the legs.” (He HAD to bring that up, didn’t he So will anything erase the pain) “Win the Super Bowl, or maybe a .500 season. Maybe.”

Josh Alvarez, 19: “God, that got me so mad. Honestly, I believe it was a setup. As a Raiders fan, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that one.”

Ray Brown, 37, Raider hat, jacket and silver-and-black do-rag: “I said, ‘Oh man, we won the game — we’re going to the championship.’ Then they came with the new rule. I’ve been watching football since I was 4 years old — I never heard of that a day in my life. That’s some crap.”

Joe Daniel: “Don’t remind me … It’s been five years already Damn. I remember that day well … seems like we haven’t been able to get that curse off of us.”

Ben, 9, perusing baseball cards at Target, wearing a Lamont Jordan jersey: “I don’t think the Raiders are cursed — they just need to get rid of Randy Moss.”

(True story: Right after I finished with Ben, two young men, 16 or so judging by their attempts at moustaches, came up to me and demanded to know what I was doing. I explained — and thought I was in luck, as one had a Raider hat on, but he refused an interview. He even refused eye contact. So I walked away. Five minutes later, I saw one giving a description of me to Ben’s mother — “Yeah, he had a notebook and everything” — and the other doing the same to Target security. So, apparently I look like a child predator.)

So, there you have it. Raider fans: angry about The Tuck. Raider fans: don’t forget about The Tuck. Raider fans: care about little kids.

Becks

Only in America is a washed-up has-been worth $250 million. And only in America is that not so bad a deal, actually.

Once upon a time, to be sure, David Robert Joseph Beckham was one of the world's premier footballers. But so was the Model T one of the world's top automobiles. Right this second? Not so much.

The man had a dreadful World Cup, two years after a dreadful European Championships. He's started only eight of his current team's 31 season games -- of which the team lost six. He's shanked key kicks, was red-carded in 1998, and fucking wept through England's crash-out in the Cup last summer, to be summarily dismissed from the England squad a month later.

But he's still the only Englishman to score in three World Cup finals, he was part of a treble-winning team, and he is quite possibly the best there ever was -- the G.O.A.T.!! -- with free-kicks.

So. After 15 years in football's top ranks, on football's top teams -- Man U and Real Madrid, both of whom are as despicable as the New York Yankees -- Becks is cashing out. But in style.

Rather than attempt to resuscitate his standings, he's opting for a full-length paid vacation in Major League Soccer. MLS is more respectable than it was, but it's still akin to driving a Volkswagen to work instead of a Ferrari. And instead of playing in Europe or in Asia, where his fame rivals that of Jesus and the Prophet Muhammad, he'll go to LA, where he'll have to compete with Tom and Katie, Paris and Nicky, and whatever other shit the gossip rags treat as legitimate news. In short -- he's copping out.

But what a cop out. $250 million, which is probably what the whole of MLS would fetch at auction.

Still, it's savvy. Becks' name alone is a marketing super-conductor. Merch and ticket sales should go through the roof. And if they do, the washed-up 31-year old, well past the prime of his career, will take home $1,000,000 a week. For five years. For playing soccer. Even in the offseason. When he's not actually playing. Soccer.