Bless Her Heart, She Must Be The Sickest Kid …

March 30

I got on the elliptical at the gym last night and was glad to see Stanford and Xavier on the flat-screen directly above me. The Sacramento Regional Final, winner to the Final Four, a little bonus Monday night March Madness. And then, I swear to you, I waited five minutes before anyone scored a basket.

Me sweating on an aerobic machine was easier on the eyes than last night’s game, and these are supposed to be two of the best teams in the land. Defense is one thing, but both teams s-t-r-uggled to get to 50 points. Then, it got even worse.

With a chance to take the lead in the final seconds, Xavier found Dee Dee Jernigan wide open for a layup. No good. They found her again. No good.

To paraphrase Vern Lundquist’s call of Jackie Smith’s dropped pass in the end zone during Super Bowl XIII, “bless her heart, she must be the sickest woman in America.”

Either Stanford’s defense dodged a bullet after failing to cover Jernigan TWICE, or they had Xavier right where they wanted them. Xavier’s defense went one better moments later — failing to stop the ball as Jeannette Pohlen went almost coast-to-coast for a buzzer-beating layup.

Great job by Pohlen. Thrilling ending. Painful to watch on a couple of levels. Especially for poor Dee Dee Jernigan. It might take all summer to console her.

Look, I am not on any crusade here. Women should play basketball, and there is something intrinsically good about any kind of competition. But I still have to be the kid who shouts that the Emperor has no clothes: that was bad basketball.

Apparently the public agreed. The upper level of ARCO Arena was covered. The lower bowl was not filled.

I’ll say it for the umpteenth time. I’m not opposed to Title IX, I’m not opposed to women’s sports, and I’m not anti-Stanford. If my daughter could play hoops I would be happy for her to play collegiately.

It’s just not a great product. Period. No matter how many games ESPN or other networks will air as filler. Last night was a perfect example.

Stanford is second in the land, but I saw no evidence they’ll be able to touch Connecticut, especially if Jayne Appel gets into foul trouble. Until proven otherwise, UConn is the gold standard. The winning streak should be 78 when this season is done.

Yet even watching the Huskies is like watching the men play in slow motion, and women have made great strides over the past couple of decades. I hope they continue to do so. That doesn’t mean I’ll be a regular viewer.

I will watch Stanford in the Final Four because after all, I skew local. It won’t be easy, but it’s part of the job. Please don’t hate me, I’m not a hater. Just an honest sports fan.

Scottsdale Diary

March 28

After all these years, I finally make it to spring training. Practice baseball fever: catch it!

I haven’t been to Scottsdale since 1970, when we visited my uncle’s ranch house. We went horseback riding in the desert and I fell off my horse. Got right back up in the saddle. The town has changed since then.

Riding the shuttle to my hotel, the driver asked a woman in the front seat, “are you here for Wrestlemania?” Apparently baseball took a back seat to Luke Gallows, Cryme Tyme, and a 26-man Battle Royale. On top of that, Paul McCartney was in town. Now if HE joined in Wrestlemania you’d have a story.

Went to play golf with a friend. Nailed the beer cart girl. With an errant drive on the eighth hole. Smack in the back of her moving cart, on the fly. That set the tone for a triple-digit day … not the temperature, my score. After laying off golf for years, goal #1 is to break 100.

That night, Giants and A’s at Scottsdale Stadium. A beautiful spring training facility, with an entrance that looks much like A T & T Park. It was a packed house. I wanted to scream at these people “do you KNOW this game doesn’t count? ” If they did, they didn’t care.

A gorgeous Arizona spring evening and a good night for Todd Wellemeyer, who all but sewed up the #5 starter’s spot, or at least he didn’t hurt his chances. Five fairly strong innings, including a double play that began with a hot smash off his backside. He won’t fool or overpower a lot of people but he gets outs and is at least a good stopgap until ( or if ) Madison Bumgarner is ready.

Late in the game, Kevin Frandsen was brought in as a pinch-runner. I wondered how long before he was traded, because it sure seemed like a swan song. Little did I know.

Travis Ishikawa struck out three times, and John Bowker banged out two more doubles. The Giants must find a way to get Bowker and Buster Posey into the lineup. Bowker had a good swing just about every time I saw him, and Posey is a potential .300 hitter. You’re telling me the Giants offense couldn’t use that ? I say you find a position for both.

Darren Ford was sent to minor league camp, but you get a feelling he will be back soon. He has other-worldly speed. He comes in as a pinch-runner at first base, Bengie Molina rips a shot through the hole into left field. No chance to reach third, right? Just a slight bobble by the left-fielder, and Ford is off. They don’t even make a play on him at third.

They’ve been using radar guns on pitchers until now. They might use one to clock Ford. Unbelievable.

After the game, a one mile walk back to the hotel, interrupted by a stop at PF Chang’s. Craving a Mai Tai, even in the desert. That was a tremendously good call.

I watched the passing parade on Scottsdale Boulevard. It is Spring Break, otherwise known as The Festival of Morons. I know: I lived in Isla Vista when I went to UCSB.

The Frat Factory churns out spring breakers by the hundreds and they come to places like this to do exactly the same thing. Guys with baseball caps on backwards and beers in their hands, talking loud and trying to pick up girls who never have to worry about anything because they’ll get by on their looks. Tell me I’m wrong.

Friday at noon. Time to hit Dos Gringos. Hardly anyone there. That doesn’t mean you’ll get quick service. I guess they don’t expect anyone to show up for lunch right at noon, because everyone’s hung over from last night.

Two gringo-style chicken tacos and two margaritas later I was ready for the Giants vs. the Angels. Tacos, excellent — margaritas, passable. They were not terribly strong. I walked to the stadium unassisted.

Kevin Frandsen has been traded. To the Red Sox for a player to be named later, or cash considerations. There really was no spot for him on this team, he wasn’t going to get regular playing time, and he might get more playing time with a new organization. Although he’s a lifelong Giants fan and local kid, a change of scenery might be just what he needs.

It’s also apparent that Jeremy Affeldt and Brian Wilson will get two-year contract extensions, although it is not made official yet. (That came on Sunday, when a Matt Cain extension was also announced. ) Affeldt was one of the great free-agent pickups a year ago but will be hard-put to match his 2009 season.

Wilson has steadily improved and is trying to mix in curveballs with his repertoire, a smart move for a guy who can’t throw 98 forever. The curve might not be an out pitch, but he might be able to get it over for a strike and keep hitters off balance. That will make his fastball that much more effective.

It’s Tim LIncecum day, and another sellout. Many out in the bleacher area are not paying attention. They have paid admission so they can drink beer at twice the price, and mingle on the patio. High livin’.

Lincecum is not ready yet, but he’s getting there. He gave up one run in four innings before developing a slight cut on this finger, but he also gave up six hits, including several hard-hit balls. Lincecum’s fastball command is still a bit spotty but the power change was pretty sharp — he struck out seven. He’s also trying to mix in a few curves, not an easy thing to do in the desert air. He dropped his spring ERA from 9.31 to 6.94, which means his regular season ERA is still 0.00.

Aaron Rowand is getting in some good swings down here. I’ve seen at least three balls hit hard to the right side, always an encouraging sign, and he ripped a double over the left-fielder’s head for good measure. He’s the leadoff hitter, for now, so it’s a must for him to be more selective and less pull-happy.

Took one more lap around the stadium and through the beer garden. Saw a young man who resembled Chewbacca with his shirt off. He had to have known: it had to be a joke, right? No reason anyone so abundantly hirsute would take off his shirt. I had the urge to find a Norelco, or some Nair.

Walked back through Old Town, and the sight of turquoise has always made me stop in my tracks. Bought a pendant for my wife. Major brownie points are about to be scored.

Stopped in for a Tostada at Loco Patron. Decent Tostada, better Margarita than Dos Gringos ( yes, it was my third of the day, but judiciously spaced over a five-hour span. ). However, I could not stay long.

A crime against the music world, against anyone who can hear, against anyone who has even a shred of taste was committed on that day. Someone touch-toned the juke box for a song featuring the great Patsy Cline singing “Strange” … with a techno dance beat underneath and some rap thrown in. The people who brought us this song are of the same mental caliber as those who brought us Will To Power’s “Free Bird.” Horrific.

On to the shuttle, to the airport and an encounter with the least-pleasant TSA workers I’ve ever encountered, and that’s saying something. A young man took over the podium from a co-worker and looked at me, which I took to be a sign that it was time to step forward. He didn’t say “stop,” he simply rolled his eyes and said, “in a hurry? “

Memo to you, dude: although I appreciate the service you are providing, you’ve got no business getting smart with someone who pays your salary. Although your job might be crushingly boring, this is not my problem. Plus, before you get an attitude, start shaving. I wisely kept all these thoughts in my head, however.

‘Bye Scottsdale. Bring on real baseball. Spring training is at least a week too long, anyway.

March Madness Music And Poetry Time

March 23

With apologies to the Chordettes:

“Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bom-bum …

Mr. Samhan, set me a screen

Throw out an elbow, and bust someone’s spleen

Kick out a pass to Dellavadova

An upset win over Villanova

Mr. Samhan, points in the paint

You’re cinderellas, the Gaels from Saint

So please don’t stop at Sweet 16

Mr. Samhan, bring us a dream … “

I thought it was lame that CBS used the song “Mr. Sandman” over Omar’s highlights, but now that I’ve re-written the lyrics, I have no objections.

And now, let’s move closer to the 21st Century:

Say your prayers, little Richmond

You go home

One and done

He did you in

And then again

Villanova couldn’t win

‘cuz the Samhan he comes

Sleep with one eye open

Baylor grip ya pillow tight

Exit Bears

Enter Gaels

Take my hand

To elimination land

PROFUSE apologies to Metallica.

And so ends music and poetry time, kids. We’ll be passing out sippy cups soon.

Now that I’ve sufficiently jinxed the Gaels, on to Arizona.

Thursday and Friday, we’ll be blogging from Scottsdale.

Madness Is Everywhere, Including Santa Clara

March 19

I’m not going to tell you how my bracket is doing, because nobody cares, including me. I don’t even know how many games I’ve won, except that I picked Old Dominion and St. Mary’s today. We’ll wait to see how it comes out in the wash.

The Tournament lived up to its billing right away however. BYU and Florida going double OT before the Cougs win, Villanova dodging a bullet in overtime against Robert Morris, and Murray State’s buzzer-beater over Vandy in San Jose. Oh, it’s on. It shows the Selection Committee really knows what it’s doing, even if there were no “local” teams out West.

The dumbest part of Day One was CBS playing the song “Mr. Sandman” by the Chordettes while showing highlights of St. Mary’s Omar Samhan. That’s a real stretch. It was also a head-scratcher that Richmond took so long to double-team Samhan, who dominated with 29 points and 12 boards. Not that it mattered: once he cooled down, Mickey McConnell drained some three’s and the Gaels had their first tourney win since Richard Nixon was Vice President.

Villanova is next, and wide awake now after getting a scare from Robert Morris, a game in which ‘Nova coach Jay Wright benched two starters for about four minutes to make a “teaching point.” That lesson was nearly too harsh for the Wildcats. St. Mary’s will have their full attention, and the Wildcats are just too athletic for the Gaels.

***

Guess who was watching the Murray State Madness in San Jose today? 49ers GM Scott McCloughan. Or, maybe just plain Scott McCloughan.

You want Madness? Head down to 4949 Centennial Avenue in Santa Clara. The 49ers and McCloughan have apparently parted ways, although it’s reportedly being called an “indefinite leave,” and according to Nancy Gay of Fanhouse, it’s the result of a “personal matter.” It’s uncertain what that means, but it sounds like some issues — possibly legal — still need to be worked out.

Matt Maoicco’s first report in the “Press Democrat” said McCloughan was thinking of stepping down, then McCloughan’s agent denied he was thinking of leaving. Today McCloughan told Matt Barrows of the “Sacramento Bee” via text that he is “good” with what he’s done as GM. Some things still don’t add up.

Theories abound as to what’s happening, but the reports say the change is not related to McCloughan’s ability to evaluate talent. That doesn’t mean there haven’t been disagreements among ‘Niner brass, but if there’s a difference in philosophy, it doesn’t sound like that’s the reason for McCloughan’s apparent departure — or at least not the ONLY reason.

The 49ers’ silence on the subject only helps fuel the speculation, but I sense there is a very good reason they are waiting to make an official statement. Hopefully that will be crafted soon. Many 49er fans who are contemplating a new ticket pricing plan are waiting to hear about the direction this franchise will take at a key moment, a month before a crucial draft.

The NFC West is on a platter for the 49ers if they make the right moves. A lot is at stake, football-wise, business-wise and fan-wise. That’s what makes the timing of this apparent move so odd.

McCloughan has made some good moves and bad moves, and I don’t think his record in free agency and the draft are any better or worse than most NFL GM’s, but it’s also important to remember that he joined the ‘Niners under a previous regime, as Mike Nolan’s guy. I don’t know if that can be considered a factor now, but it’s just something to keep in mind.

***

Say a prayer for 16-year-old Gunnar Sandberg, the Marin Catholic High School pitcher who is in a medically-induced coma after taking a line drive off the head last week. Marin Catholic is laying down its aluminum bats in favor of wood bats, not only in support of Gunnar but as part of a new safety campaign. They want other high schools in their league to join in.

Previous studies provide conflicting information on whether aluminum bats are truly more dangerous, but many of those studies were conducted several years ago, and since then technological advances have been made. Aluminum bats are more powerful than ever, like steroids in your hands. Baseballs coming off these bats are often traveling 100 miles an hour.

Aluminum bats have become popular at the school level not only because of the results, but because they’re perceived as being cost-effective. However, any parent of a ballplayer knows that the best aluminum models can cost nearly 300-dollars, and a kid on a high school team feels pressure to have the very best to keep up with the competition. Wooden bats put the player at a disadvantage.

Some kids and coaches worry that the switch to wooden bats will also harm a player’s statistics, and thereby harm their chances of catching on with a JC or college program. I don’t really buy that; a smart college recruiter can tell who is a legitimate hitter, regardless of the bat they’re swinging. Screw the stats.

Aluminum bat bans are in effect in New York and North Dakota, and some schools participate in wood bat-only leagues. Marin Catholic is to be credited for laying down the aluminum, and I would hope other schools and leagues would follow suit. But I’m not holding my breath.

Don’t expect major colleges to change quickly, even if it would make sense for players who need wooden bats if they play professionally — and some individual collegiate players have made the switch. In a rough economy it’s unlikely that wood bats will make a huge comeback any time soon. In addition, the “ping” has become a trademark of the lucrative College World Series.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to make the game safer if we can. Right now, though, we have more important business at hand. Say a prayer for Gunnar.

Phrases You’ll Hear In The Next 48 Hours

March 17

No, I’m not Irish. On my mom’s side, I’m descended from the people who oppressed the Irish, so I don’t get too excited about St. Patrick’s Day. St. Patrick was a Brit who was kidnapped as a teen. Green Beer = Fail.

But in the next few hours, you will hear someone say “kiss me, I’m Irish,” even if their family landed on our shores 170 years ago during the Potato Famine. The closest they’ve been to Ireland is Dublin, California. Dammit, you’re American, not Irish.

You will hear someone say “magically delicious” when a cute chick in a leprechaun outfit walks by.

You will hear someone try to speak in an exaggerated Irish accent, and talk like the guys in “The Commitments.” Someone will say the word “fooking” tonight.

Tomorrow morning, you will need to either step over, or step around, someone’s vomit on the sidewalk near your place of work. Just like New Orleans.

Tomorrow morning, you will see bits of green clothing, a green hat, or a pipe somewhere on the sidewalk. Leprechaun-on-leprechaun crime is very unseemly.

Tomorrow morning, you will hear a co-worker grouse about their totally preventable Thursday hangover, and another co-worker will try to cheer them up with “how’s your bracket?”

Many of your (and my) co-workers will not even show up on the job, either because of a) the aforementioned hangover or b) they’ve gone to Las Vegas for the first couple of days of March Madness.

( About half of KNBR will be in Vegas, leaving behind a Cumulus ghost town. Legitimately, a few are going for a friend’s bachelor party. That’s actually a good choice to ensure marital bliss: the bride need not worry about the groom hooking up, because Madness in Vegas is the world’s biggest sausage-fest. I’ll pass. I can drink beer and watch hoops from my La-Z-Boy. )

In the next couple of days, you will hear someone talk about who they “have” in their bracket, as if they are Joe Lunardi’s illegitimate child.

By Friday night, your co-workers who have recovered from a St. Patrick’s hangover will still be miserable, when they realize they have no shot at winning their bracket. Any of them. “My brackets, my poor, beautiful brackets.”

Others will crow that they knew their shot-in-the-dark Northern Iowa/Vanderbilt/UtahSt./UTEP pick was going to click.

You will hear someone say in a knowing tone, “you’ve gotta go with the chalk.” Which, by the way, is usually the best way to go in life.

In seven weeks, many of those people who wear green hats tonight will be wearing sombreros.

In one year, the pattern will be repeated.

Tiger ( Need I Say More ? )

March 16

The world will stop turning on April 8th, when Tiger Woods strikes a golf ball for money once again. I can barely stand to wait. The best sports week of the year ( Masters, start of baseball season, NCAA Final Four ) is even better.

And so, a billionaire philanderer will return to what he does best ( outside of shagging ), and he’ll do so in the cloistered surroundings of Augusta, which accepted its first black member seven years before Tiger won his first major. Billy Payne will make sure there is no circus. The “patrons” must behave themselves, or risk a dunking in Rae’s Creek and interment in Eisenhower Cabin.

I can’t relate to Tiger Woods and his surroundings in any way, except that I once hit a golf ball 300 yards ( at 7,000 foot elevation ). He lives in a world most of us can only imagine. Most guys were probably living vicariously through him ( even in the case of the waffle house girl ) but it’s really hard to care about him personally.

I have stated many times that what he did was none of my business, that it was something for his wife and family to handle. Yet there is mounting evidence that Tiger’s been a pretty self-centered guy — not even counting the affairs. Those stories have piled up lately, and might be categorized as piling on, but there are too many to discount them all.

I can’t say I’ll be rooting for Tiger at Augusta or anywhere else this year ( or that he cares what I think ), but I will be rooting for a great story, and that’s almost guaranteed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wins, and if he does, that’ll be the biggest sports story of the year. If he crashes and burns, which I don’t expect, that will also be a huge story.

Tiger has already proven that he not only moves the needle in golf, he IS the needle. PGA Commissioner Tim Finchem could barely conceal his glee today. The combination of a recession and a Tiger hiatus was not good for the Tour’s bottom line.

How about Tiger’s bottom line? It’s clear he has lost some fans, and he has lsot some of his sponsors forever, but don’t shed a tear. He’ll have enough endorsements to keep himself in Escalades for the rest of his life.

We live in an era where most of our major sports icons have been deconstructed, and in true American fashion, many are forgiven and make the Great Comeback. You’ve seen VH1′s “Behind The Music” haven’t you ? In these cynical times, we have long since learned not attach ourselves emotionally to our sports stars, and instead simply appreciate them when they are great.

I’m pretty sure Tiger has some redeeming personal qualities, although much evidence points in the other direction. I’d be lying if I said if that didn’t influence my view of him on the golf course, but not enough to make a major difference. I can at least appreciate Tiger’s place in the game’s history, and it’s possible the greatest chapter is about to be written.

Now, how will he celebrate if he wins ?

Shootout At The Fantasy Factory (Apologies to CCR )

March 15

This might have been the silliest sports day of the year.

First, I filled out NCAA tournament brackets based on mere cursory knowledge of the Butlers and Northern Iowas of the world. Brackets are what make the tournament go round. Without small-time gambling, I’d still watch the tournament, but it wouldn’t be half as exciting.

Is that so wrong?

I know certain people are above the brackets. I know those people view people like me as common fools, and I respect that. I probably threw away 20 bucks today.

Yet Americans need cheap thrills like this in our otherwise desultory existence. We love to talk about our “sleeper” picks and “chalk-busters,” as though people can’t tell we’re speaking out of a rear orifice. How many of us have seen Murray State play this year?

As a sports anchor I can make an educated guess about who will win, but for the most part we’re on a level plane — butcher and baker, milkman and housewife. That’s what makes it fun. Right now, everyone feels they have a shot at bracket glory. That is, if they pick Kansas to win it all.

The basketball isn’t that good until perhaps the Final Four, and even then the quality of play can be sketchy. Coaches have imposed their will on the college game to the point that it often resembles a funeral march, and it’s hard to find a good shooter. That along with the NBA have gutted college hoops, but the tournament is still thick with drama because it’s one-and-done … and there’s money on the line.

That doesn’t mean I love Madness so much that I want to see the tournament expand. That would be the worst idea since the “new” Coke. You can barely find 32 good teams now, let alone 64.

***

Now we leave Madness Mountain for Nerdville.

I have become that which I once despised. I am in a fantasy baseball league. Today was Draft Day.

Nerd alert activated.

I did this out of necessity, and I blame my Best Man, Orr. Two years ago, he disbanded our simulation baseball league, which makes fantasy baseball look like the sandbox in the school yard. As commissioner, he became tired of the workload caused by managers not taking care of business, and so America’s best and most realistic computer-based league — in which we are general managers and in-game managers in head to head competition — was gone from our lives.

Nature hates a void, so I had to feed my competitive desire somehow. I joined an in-house fantasy league here at KNBR. My Walk of Shame has begun, but the alternative — a life without checking on the projected numbers of Asdrubal Cabrera and the like — was just too awful to imagine.

This is not easy for a married man. ( Some of you are actually thinking, “so get divorced.” Tsk, tsk. ) I have a lot on my plate, but undeterred, I always find room for the trivial. I crammed for the draft last night, and in a 12-team league I looked at every possible scenario.

Except the one that actually happened today. I never figured I would draft first. Helllooooo, Albert Pujols.

The problem is, with a serpentine draft, I had to wait 23 turns for my next pick. In the meantime I watched in horror as Hanley Ramirez dropped to fourth. Not that it mattered to me.

Probably the highlight of the early rounds was when producer Mike Hohler’s team, F — The Yankees, picked Alex Rodriguez sixth overall. Mike had the look of someone who was force-fed liver and onions. Then he picked C.C. Sabathia in the third round. A name change might be in order.

( Other team names in our league include: Bruce Bochy’s Head, Honey Nut Ichiros, and In Billy Beane I Trust. We are quite the clever bunch, don’t you think? )

As for my team, the Danville Tire Kickers, the long wait until the end of the second round was richly rewarded. There, like a lonely waif looking for a home, was Roy Halladay. We wrapped him a blanket, took him home for a warm cup of cocoa, then told him nigh-night.

Time will judge the wisdom of my later picks, such as Shin Soo-Choo at the beginning of the 5th round, Clayton Kershaw at the end of the 6th and Matt Wieters at the start of the 7th. There’s some upside there. Now if I can convince the government of South Korea to delay Shin’s mandatory two-year military stint next year, my outfield is set.

I pride myself on two things in a draft: the ability to snap up young talent, and the ability to go into a late-round grind. Hence the choices of Wieters, Kershaw, and Julio Borbon … and the late-round pickups such as Mike Gonzalez, Adrian Beltre, and Howie Kendrick. FYI, Stephen Strasburg went in the 9th round, a possible steal for our league commissioner.

What this all means I’m not sure, except that I have descended into the type of nerdi-ness I thought I left behind in Junior High School. Then again, if you spent a day at my job, you’d have an 8th grade flashback.

Wish me luck. And don’t tell my wife.

***

In closing, God Bless Daylight Savings Time.

Goodbye, Three Dog

March 9

A part of my childhood died this morning at a home in Burbank. That’s where they found Willie Davis dead. 69 years old ? No way. I remember seeing him play. He CAN”T be that old.

On KNBR, Gary Radnich and I discussed the demise of the notion of sports “heroes” this morning. The modern media has pulled back the curtain, and our illusions about athletes are pretty much dead. As a child, I wasn’t burdened with that knowledge, and simply rooted for my favorite players on my favorite team.

That was the Los Angeles Dodgers, and that was Willie Davis, #3. The “Three Dog” had 2500 hits, 138 triples and stole 398 bases. He was the all-time Los Angeles leader in several offensive categories, but the numbers don’t tell the whole story. I probably saw him play about 30 games at Dodger Stadium over the years, and I never saw a faster player. More than that, he was a brother with STYLE.

His talent was considerable, but he played in an era of great center fielders. It didn’t help that his first name was Willie. That Willie to the north was always better, but our Willie had his moments — great and bad.

The first year I began truly paying attention to sports was 1965. In the first Dodger game I ever saw, Willie Davis knocked in two runs and made a spectacular diviing catch up the gap in right center as the Dodgers beat the Giants, 4-2. Baseball became my lifelong friend that day, and Willie D. was one of my favorite players, warts and all.

I loved the speed guys anyway. I once took on the kid who wore the crown of “fastest in the school” and he barely nipped me in a 50-yard dash. He said “you’re the second fastest,” and I proudly wore that title, so I thought I could identify with guys like Willie Davis. I loved it when Vin Scully told us on the radio, “a triple, for the Threeee Daaaaawg.”

I knew baseball was really special because in October, they interrupted class so we could watch the final innings of game 7 of the World Series. Yes, they used to play World Series games in the daytime. No, I don’t think schools would do that today.

They rolled a TV set into our classroom as the Dodgers closed out the Twins. While most of the girls were busy talking among themselves in the back of the class, I whooped it up. Even my teacher applauded, and actually seemed interested when I told her about Willie’s nickname.

It was my first year as a fan and the Dodgers were champs, so I figured it was going to be like this every year. Sure enough, the Dodgers returned to the Series in ’66. Then, it all fell apart, and Willie was a big reason.

This time I was at a friend’s house, and Willie D. did the unthinkable. Always capable of the spectacular and the strange, Willie dropped a fly ball and airmailed the throw to third in Game 2 against the Orioles. He ended up setting a World Series record with three errors in one game. The Dodgers were never the same and were swept.

The Dodgers weren’t the same for a few years, as a matter of fact. The retirement of Sandy Koufax killed them in ’67 and ’68 and Don Drysdale called it quits in ’69. Nobody could hit the ball for a couple of years, including Davis, but the Dodgers were still my team, warts and all.

The Dodgers enjoyed a revival in ’69 and a more mature Willie Davis was in the middle of things. I got his autograph at a shopping mall one day, telling him he was my favorite Dodger. He handed me back my baseball, winked and said “you be good now.”

Willie was very good that year, and in fact for the next several years. He was reaching his prime as a hitter, enjoying the fact that the pitcher’s mound was lower, and he even calmed down in center field. He was never an especially patient hitter, but he could be streaky-hot. That summer he embarked on the longest hitting streak in the National League in 19 years.

The streak reached 30 games in 1969. On September 3rd, the Dodgers played the Mets, and I was there with my friend Rich, who was celebrating his birthday. Willie went hitless in his first four at-bats and it looked like the streak was done, because the Dodgers led 4-0 going into the 8th inning.

If there are Baseball Gods, they smiled on us and on Willie that night. The Mets scored four in the 8th to tie the game, and a very young Nolan Ryan did what he usually did in those days — walking two and striking out two in a scoreless bottom of the 8th. Willie would get one more chance.

In the bottom of the 9th Maury Wills singled and Manny Mota sacrificed him to second base. They didn’t walk Willie because he looked bad at the plate that night, and the on-deck hitter, Wes Parker, had smoked a double and single. The Mets kept a lefthander named Jack DiLauro in the game. It backfired.

Willie stroked a double to left to score Wills, winning the game and extending his streak to 31.

The streak ended the next night in San Diego, the Dodgers faded to 4th in the new National League West but still finished eight games over .500, and we know what the Mets did a month later. But for one night, Willie was the story.

Willie paid one last dividend as his Dodger career ended. He was traded at the end of the 1973 season for a relief pitcher named Mike Marshall. Marshall won the Cy Young Award the next year and the Dodgers returned to the World Series, but it was missing something without Willie. I kept his memory alive by insisting on wearing the number 3 in Little League and high school.

I feel badly about how I eulogized Willie Davis today in one of my sports updates. I recalled the quote by former Dodgers General Manager Buzzie Bavasi, who said Willie had Hall of Fame ability, “million-dollar legs and a ten-cent head.” It’s true Willie sometimes drove Dodger management and teammates crazy, but he shouldn’t be remembered simply for that.

Willie’s life took some strange turns after his career was over. He was one in a long line of athletes who had trouble adjusting after the cheers died down, and drug abuse was part of the problem. However, the Dodgers always tried to give him a life-line, and he eventually straightened things out.

Baseball history might label Willie a disappointment because he didn’t seem to reach his potential, but potential is always a very tricky word. He played in a tough pitcher’s era, in one of the toughest hitter’s parks, and enjoyed a long career. Many ballplayers would take his body of work and run with it — but not as fast as Willie.

UConn’t Beat Them

March 8

And now, a first … I’m going to talk about women’s college basketball.

Usually, I don’t feel the need to do so, because the Chronicle tells you everything you need to know about Stanford women’s basketball, from Jayne Appel’s favorite band to Tara VanDerveer’s favorite halfcourt play. Someone on the Board of Directors must have a kid on the team. The Chron over-compensates for the paucity of coverage in the general media.

I use this occasion to discuss women’s hoops because the University of Connecticut has broken its’ own record for consecutive wins at 71, defeating Notre Dame. It was a big night, almost ruined by the Fighting Irish, who insisted on intentionally fouling UConn players twice in the final minute, despite trailing by 15. Awful.

When UCLA dominated men’s basketball in the 60′s and 70′s few complained that their dominance was ruining the game. If anything, the reaction to their success threatened to destroy the game. Anyone remember the Stall?

The UConn women have succeeded in getting me to blog about them, but I wouldn’t say they’ve had the same impact the Bruins have had. In fact, the women’s game is worse off than ever. They could use more competition.

Men’s college basketball is barely watchable. The women’s game is something less. Add to that, when you have such a gap between the top two or three teams and the rest of the competition, there is a palpable lack of drama.

A co-worker asked me whether UConn could give a men’s D-1 team a run for their money. Now THAT would attract attention. Bobby Riggs vs. Billie Jean King redux.

They could probably beat UCLA this year ( rim shot ).

But seriously, is there a really bad team, say a Marist or an Alcorn State, who would struggle to beat the Huskies ?

Um, no. Not a chance.

As good as the UConn women are, and as much as the women’s game has advanced, they’re not THAT good. That’s not a knock on the athletes — they give it their all, and if I had a daughter who was good at hoops, I would hope she could play in college.

That doesn’t change the fact that women’s basketball is a bad product, and most sports fans will never be interested. That can’t be legislated by Title IX. Not even the dunkin-and-punchin’ Brittney Griner of Baylor can make women’s hoops anything more than a niche sport. And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that.

Now, women’s CURLING ….

Oscar, Carr, Magic and Bird

March 7

I have to confess I was rooting for Jeff Bridges to win the Best Actor Oscar tonight. After all, his dad WAS in my living room. That’s how the whole Hollywood bit with Gary Radnich got started. You can’t deny The Dude.

I have inherited my mother’s ability to guess Oscar winners. 9 for 10 in the main categories. The only one I missed was … uh … best picture. Kathryn Bigelow was an easy guess as Best Director. Hollywood loves to make history.

***

HBO’s latest entry, “Magic and Bird; A Courtship Of Rivals” is first-rate. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird are able to recount their battles while the memories are still vivid, and honestly, did anyone think Magic was going to be alive in 2010 to tell the story ?

Some critics liked to call Magic a phony because, as the documentary details, he basically had two personalities: Earvin, the happy- go- lucky kid from Lansing, and Magic the media megastar. Magic eventually got Earvin in big trouble. Bird was Magic’s polar opposite.

In covering the Utah Jazz during the 80′s I had several occasions to interview Magic after games, but only a couple of chances to speak to Bird. If Magic turned off his personality and went to a dark side, it wasn’t evident to me. He was always ready to talk, and frankly he loved the attention.

Bird did interviews only because he had to, but often made you wait 45 minutes or so after a game. With a few exceptions he was distant. On one night he came within a steal of a quadruple-double against the Jazz and broke out of a shooting slump, and he even joked a little bit afterwards.

Even in a good mood, though, Bird had limits. He said fans sent in suggestions on how to end his slump, and when I asked him for examples, the silliness was over. He said “nah, I’m not gonna get into that,” and you knew it was time to change the subject.

In contrast, the revelation of the HBO feature is how Bird opened up. Don’t get me wrong, he hasn’t become a sloppy sentimentalist in his middle age, but he discussed in greater depth than ever before his upbringing in French Lick, his love-hate relationship with Magic, and how he reacted to the news that Magic was HIV positive. It’s apparent he now realizes how special that relationship was, and how they needed each other.

Magic and Bird were both incredibly talented individuals who were also highly motivated to improve and to win. When you get that combination, you get greatness, and in the 1980′s the finest basketball that has ever been played. They, not David Stern or Michael Jordan, saved the NBA.

HBO scores with this special, nothing but net.

***

The news on Friday that the 49ers were talking to David Carr drew the same reaction from most 49ers fans: he’s still in the league? The 49ers have already seen this TV show: The Bachelor, a few years ago. Carr isn’t much better than Jesse Palmer at this point.

Carr’s two-year contract to be a backup quarterback probably means the end for Shaun Hill. Fans are wondering if Hill slept with somebody’s wife. Apart from that and cheating at cards, I’m not sure what he did to fall out of favor. All he did was win, in fact he was the only winning quarterback the 49ers have had since Jeff Garcia.

In a strange way, maybe the 49ers did Hill a favor. He clearly was going nowhere here, so maybe he’ll get an opportunity somewhere else. He has limitations, and doesn’t fit what the 49ers are trying to do.

Mike Singletary and company either want to see Alex Smith develop or trade for a veteran who can win now, like Donovan McNabb. It’s hard to believe the Niners see Carr as anything more than an insurance policy, and if they do, I think they’re delusional. Carr would seem to have little tread lift on the tire after being used as a pinata in Houston.

Carr was sacked as often as the word “amazing” is used on “The Bachelor,” but that wasn’t only because he had a porous offensive line. His ability to sense and escape the rush was less than “amazing” and he was probably a little gun-shy after a few years with the Texans. So his presence is troubling, unless the 49ers are trying to become part of history.

You see now, the Bay Area has three of the worst #1 picks ever: Carr, Smith and Jamarcus Russell. Now all we need is for the Raiders to sign Tim Couch.