It's a shot of the A's not clinching at home. Just like Eric Chavez hoped they wouldn't.

One of these men is the 21st President of the United States, and the other plays first base for the A's, but I'll be damned if I can tell you which is which.

Why am I posting this here? Uh... no reason.

Ah, but the seven or eight faithful readers of this site shouldn't fly into a blind panic or rend their garments or sing hosannas to the heavens for my untimely departure. I'm going to continue writing about the A's -- I'll just be doing it in a different venue.

Ken Arneson has suggested that we join forces over at Catfish Stew, and I decided to quickly accept his offer before he could have any second thoughts. Remember, Ken -- no takebacks.

I'm joining Catfish Stew after a series of intense negotiations in which Ken won the right to my services in exchange for a Philly cheesesteak. While that may not seem like much, consider that Ken -- much like the Rangers when they signed A-Rod to that deal -- was pretty much bidding against himself.

I mean, say what you will about Scott Boras, but that guy gets results. He really earned that 10 percent of my cheesesteak.

In all seriousness, I think this is a tremendous opportunity. You only have to count the innumerable times I've linked to something Ken's written to know how highly I regard his work. I only hope to live up to the high standard that's set at each and every one of the blogs under the Toaster banner, and that looking smart-by-association is as inevitable as I've been led to believe.

While my piteous cries for Ken Macha's head and other such A's-related schtick will now take place over at Catfish Stew, I plan to continue posting stuff here at the Idiots weblog -- petty complaints about other sports happenings, strange vendettas against newspaper men who offend my sensibilities, and photos of me wearing Hawaiian shirts at athletic venues across the land will continue to appear here as time and circumstances permit. I'll do so not just because of the copious amounts of free time I apparently have or because of my insatiable lust to see my byline over and over again, but because one of the great joys in my life is to work with Jason Snell, who is a fine colleague and an even better friend. And if anyone points out to him that I wrote that, I plan on saying it was a typo.

So let's not think of this as a goodbye -- let's think of it more as a click over here.

"He is a scab," Rhodes said of Lidle, who according to Rhodes was a replacement player during the 1995 spring training lockout with the Brewers. "When he started, he would go 51/3 innings and (the bullpen) would have to win the game for him. The only thing Cory Lidle wants to do is fly around in his airplane and gamble.

"He doesn't have a work ethic. After every start, he didn't run or lift weights. He would sit in the clubhouse and eat ice cream."

We love, love, love this story for several reasons:

1. Cory Lidle was the starting pitcher for one of our most miserable experiences at the ballpark, Game Four of the 2001 American League Division Series against the New York Yankees. We can still see Cory Lidle standing on the mound, taking approximately 45 minutes in between pitches as the thought of throwing the ball anywhere near the plate apparently filled him with abject terror. Considering that the Yankees' starter that day was Orlando Hernandez, who apparently labors under the belief that he is paid by the hour, this game took an estimated four days, seven hours and 32 minutes to complete. Anyhow, we are giddy at the thought that Yankees fans will now have the distinct pleasure of watching Cory Lidle come up small when the chips are on the line, and we advise those same fans to pack ample food and water to any playoff game he should happen to pitch.
2. It is always nice to catch up with Enemy of the People Arthur Rhodes and see how his one-man battle to take every sentence ever uttered as a personal affront is going. If Arthur could only put half the effort into pitching as he does into taking offense at the slightest provocation, then they would be clearing space next to Bruce Sutter's plaque at that museum up in Cooperstown for Rhodes' eventual enshrinement.

   Or course, Rhodes simply sucks, so they won't have to go through the bother.

3. Our secret shame is that we spend far too much time playing dice baseball, certainly more than any grown man should spend. And since the particular game we play licenses its player cards from the Major League Baseball Players Association and since replacement players are expressly forbidden from reaping the rewards of being included in such games, we are intimately familiar with the fake names that have been assigned to players who crossed the picket line. Cory Lidle's dice baseball pseudonym is Fuller Starr.

   We advise all Yankee fans to begin cheering for him under that name.

   In case you are curious, other one-time A's who have to assume a fake name to appear in dice baseball are: Ron Mahay (Red Crestwood); Frank Menechino (Jerry Legler); Damian Miller (Don Cross); Joe Slusarski (Bob Bleacher), and Jeff Tam (Todd Pearl).

   For my money, the greatest fake name in all of dice baseball history is the one assigned to Shane Spencer: Jimmy Ladd. If my life ever takes such a drastic turn that I have to assume a new identity, chances are the name I will choose to begin my new life on the lam is going to be Jimmy Ladd. Either that, or Michael Philips since half my mail is addressed that way anyhow.

I assume it was his first, you see, since, upon recording the third out of the ninth inning, he jumped and capered and preened and carried on. So naturally, I just figured that he never saved a ballgame before in his life.

Hey, look at me! I recorded a save! Whoo-hoo! Look at me! Look at me!

You stay classy, Los Angeles of Anaheim.

Move #1: Billy Beane Decides to Wear Khakis Instead of Shorts

Khakis versus shorts has been the subject of spirited debate within the A's organization. While some of the younger office employees favor shorts and the laid-back atmosphere they help promote, other old-line types prefer khakis, which they believe are not only more professional looking, but also help safeguard against rapid changes in weather during the Bay Area's unpredictable summers. Indeed, the khakis-or-shorts debate has become something of an ideological divide, with some pundits -- chief among them ESPN's Joe Morgan -- chiding the Athletics for seemingly turning their back on the khakis favored by so many other organizations.

On this particular deadline day, Beane opted for khakis, feeling they would be a better match with the navy blue golf shirt he decided to wear that morning. It was a bold maneuver by the A's GM, at once signaling a willingness to compete for a division title but a refusal to mortgage the future -- and risk potentially chilly legs -- to do it.

Move #2: Billy Beane orders a roast beef-and-swiss sandwich for lunch

Beane has long argued that pastrami has been over-valued as a luncheon meat by other general managers. Plus, given Oakland's small-market status and modest budget, the team can ill-afford to go out and obtain a meatball sandwich or other speciality offering. Besides, Beane left his "Buy Six Sandwiches and Get a Half-Sandwich for Free" Frequent Sub Club card in his other pants, so he was unable to go out and splurge on Monday. And he doesn't much care for turkey.

So instead, Beane went with roast beef-and-swiss, a classic sandwich combo that proves the Athletics GM understands this game at a level mere mortals could never even hope to comprehend, not even if all the world's knowledge could be condensed down into a single pill and force-fed to them every night for the next 15 years.

ESPN reported that Beane's roast beef-and-swiss deal nearly fell apart in the waning hours before the trade deadline when the deli owner demanded Jay Payton, Jason Windsor, and cash in exchange for the sour cream-and-onion potato chips Beane ordered with his sandwich. But Beane cagily pointed out that the chips came with the sandwich as part of the deli's Meal Deal, and the order was able to go through just under the wire. Again, this is the sign of a general manager who will sacrifice neither prospects nor proven veterans just so that he can have lunch. Can the guy running your team say the same, fans of the 29 other Major League Baseball clubs?

This is a rhetorical question: that guy cannot.

Move #3: Billy Beane uploads photos from his World Cup trip to his Flickr account

Some people might say that a general manager who takes off in the middle of the baseball season to go watch a bunch of soccer matches in Germany has taken his eye of the ball, especially when the team that he's assembled is at or near the bottom of the American League in nearly every relevant metric of offensive achievement. Those people are dullards and fools and should be poked with the sharp ends of sticks for even thinking to question the ability of a man so smart that his brain sleeps on pillows fluffed each night by seraphim and sheets cleaned and pressed by cherubim.

When Billy Beane spends part of the season watching soccer games instead of improving his roster, he is saying to the 25 men in the Oakland clubhouse, "Hey, I trust your ability to win this division, even if the preceding three months have produced no tangible evidence that you are capable of doing so." And that, in turn, instills confidence in Billy Beane's handpicked charges that they might be able to stumble boldly and decisively into an American League Western Division crown. And from there, if the Red Sox are having an off-week and the Yankees are distracted and the White Sox aren't feeling particularly up to snuff and the Tigers get lost on the way to the ballpark, that 25-man roster assembled by Billy Beane can claim the American League pennant that was this team's to lose back when the roster was more or less set in place in February.

Besides, it beats working.

Sources close to Beane report that he was particularly pleased with the photo he took of Athletics owner Lew Wolff wearing a "My GM went to the World Cup and all I got was Scott Sauerbeck" t-shirt.

But yes, they did play a game Saturday -- what could turn out to be Barry Zito's last game as an Athletic. That possibility moved Ken Arneson earlier this week to write:

I'll have to remember to give [Zito] a standing ovation when he comes off the field, even if he gives up 10 runs in the first inning.

And for a brief time, that looked to be eeirly prophetic, as Zito gave up four runs in the first inning. But Zito settled down, the A's offense came back, and when Zito was pulled with two outs and a runner on in the seventh, he had 6-4 lead. He got his standing ovation as well as enough prolonged cheers to merit a curtain call. Said Zito in the Chronicle report linked above:

"That was awesome,'' Zito said. "I've never taken a curtain call before. Maybe they thought it was my last outing. That was a pretty special game, with the offense coming back to pick me up. ... The fans here are outstanding.''

That's how you exit the stage with class. Please clip-and-save, Mr. Giambi.

Back to Zito's shaky start: for a little bit in the second inning, it looked like the Blue Jays might add to their 4-0 lead. John McDonald singled to left to start the second. Reed Johnson followed with another single. So there are runners on first and second with nobody out. Ten batters have come to the plate so far for the Blue Jays in the game and eight of them have reached base. (Jason Phillips' double-play erased one of those runners to end the first.) Up steps Aaron Hill who is batting .301 on the year -- he's already singled this game and he's 10 for his last 35 at-bats.

Naturally, John Gibbons orders him to bunt.

Let's review this situation here: Barry Zito is struggling. He is giving up hits with unprecedented generosity. Now would seem like the time to keep piling up the runs so that Oakland is burried early. I'm not sure why you'd want to play for just a run or two in this situation when Zito seemed hell-bent on handing out as many runs as possible.

So here's what transpired. Vernon Wells struck out looking. With first base open thanks to the bunt, the A's walked Troy Glaus, who had homered in the first. Alexis Rios struck out -- the second of his five Ks on the day -- to end the threat. And the Blue Jays never scored again.

After the game, reports surfaced that Bill James burst into the Toronto clubhouse to challenge John Gibbons to a fistfight.

Phil's Ambivalence About the A's This Year + (Phil's General Antipathy Toward Red Sox Fans in General * Beer) = Likelihood of an Incident Ending in the Phrase "Bail Was Denied"

And I just don't need that in my life right now.

No, instead, let's just go to the Toronto game, where the only taunts from opposing fans will be about this country's health care system and the knuckleheads I encounter are likely to be rooting for the same team as I am. Because my season tickets are in the bleachers and the bleachers in Oakland feature general-admission seating, each game I attend is something of a lottery in terms of how will be sitting in my vicinity. Will it be a knowledgeable, interesting fan? A family out on a weekend outing? Someone visiting from another town? Or a booze-fueled wantwit who decides to pepper the air with obscenity-ladden inanities?

We had an abundance of that last group Saturday. I knew I was in for a long afternoon, and it had nothing to do with Troy Glaus' grand slam to open up scoring in the first inning. Rather, what clued me that I was in for an afternoon of teeth-gritting was when the young man seated in front of me greeted the arrival of Blue Jays right fielder Alexis Rios by shouting, "Hey Rios -- how's the leg?"

Ah yes. Saturday marked only the second game back for Rios after a month-long stay on the DL for a particularly nasty staph infection. To give you some idea as to the depth of the injury, here's a report from the Toronto Star earlier this month:

In one of the strangest Jays disablements in recent memory, Rios fouled a ball off his left ankle/shin on June 27 against the Nationals, but finished the game. The next day he sat out with what was diagnosed as a bruise. It was day-to-day.

On June 29, with redness visible around the welt, he was admitted to hospital and given intravenous antibiotics. There he stayed for nine days while doctors were forced twice to operate on the wound, to drain liquid from a staph infection. He was released from Mount Sinai Hospital on July 7, and hobbled to Pittsburgh to join his four all-star teammates and participate in the pre-game ceremonies.

Rios still has a visible limp and estimated he has lost six or seven pounds from his pre-infection playing weight. He is far from being able to play, not yet strong enough to begin exercising the muscles in his left ankle and leg.

It's also worth noting that when a second player had to go on the DL with an infection, the Blue Jays had to call in local health officials to disinfect the clubhouse.

So, staph infections -- very serious, potentially deadly, certainly virulent and scary. Oh, and also a potential source of comedy if you're a right-field boo bird.

I'm trying to understand just exactly what was going through this heckler's mind -- besides the cool breeze blowing in behind us -- when he decided that, of all the things to taunt Alex Rios about, a debilitating health issue should top the list. I mean, once you break out the "how's the leg?" taunts in the first inning, there's only one way for this to progress.

Rios -- you've got a staph infection!

You could have died!

It's funny because it didn't happen to me!

You're weak and susceptible to disease!

Look at me, everyone! I'm funny! I'm funny!

In other words, someone comes out looking bad in that exchange. And it's not Alexis Rios.

That young man was the Grand Idiot to Whom All Other Idiots Must Pay Homage To, but he was hardly the only dope in attendance Saturday. The row behind us -- Lisa described our situation as "the meat of sensibility wedged between two slices of Idiot-Loaf" -- featured a gaggle of college buddies planning a road trip to Oregon.

"We're driving through Ashland," one of the dudes says to another. "Isn't there some sort of Shakespeare theater there?"

Why, yes there is -- the Oregon Shakespeare Festival is generally regarded as one of the finest regional theater operations in this country. Your correspondent has spent many an enjoyable afternoon and evening watching theatrical productions in Southern Oregon.

"I don't know," the other dude replies. "I don't care about that shit."

And... we're done here.

The young gentlemen behind us also repeatedly kicked the back of Lisa's seat after moving to our section because -- get this -- the person behind them kept kicking them in the seat. "Of course," Lisa observed, "how can can you expect someone that dismissive of Shakespeare to have a working knowledge of irony."

So we moved, down to the left field corner underneath the second-deck overhang. The view wasn't as good, but the company -- a couple of families with their kids, an older couple -- was a hell of a lot more pleasant. The A's taking the lead also helped improve the outlook considerably.

When I re-up my season tickets next year -- if I re-up my season tickets next year -- I shall probably upgrade from my bleacher seats to something in the the plaza level. It's double what I pay now, but I figure that since you've got assigned seats, you're sitting with the same folks game after game instead of the rotating band of drunkards I'm dealing with now. And the higher ticket price probably means for a different class of walk-up ticket buyer than what you get in the bleachers.

However, if the A's really wanted to make some extra cash -- and all signs and portents indicate that this is Lew Wolff's primary goal in life -- what they should do is create a service that allows you to carefully vet the people who sit down next to you in the bleachers. Many's the time I've wished that I could hand potential seatmates a written exam that includes a mix of questions on A's history ("Who did the A's trade to obtain Ken Holtzman in 1971?"), baseball analysis ("True or False: a pitcher's win-loss record is the best indicator of how they've pitched?"), and basic comportment ("Do you think staph infections are an appropriate subject for heckling?"). If the A's were to offer such a service, I don't know what I'd be willing to pay on a per-game basis. $20? $50? I'd be hesitant to put a monetary figure on what the ability to watch games in a chucklehead-free environment means to me.

All that aside, I call your attention to this item from the usually-quite-grumpy T.J. Simers' column, which Bay Area fans probably did not see, since it's from that L.A. paper.

Jake Field is 10, and lives in L.A. with his family, including his father, George, a supervisor for the Department of Homeland Security. Jake has been a big-time fan of the A's, and a catcher, just like Oakland's Jason Kendall.

In October, Jake began treatment for brain cancer. When he requested a Kendall jersey, Kendall showed up at the youngster's L.A. home with it.

Oh, and...

When the A's were made aware of [Jake's worsening condition], they immediately reacted and invited Jake to join them for Monday's game in Oakland.

The family arrived Sunday, and "Jason called Jake at the hotel and said we could use his suite for the game and Jake could eat whatever he wanted and not pay," George said. "Jake got real excited about that.

"Jason told him all the players would be waiting for him on the field, and then he told me to cancel our airplane reservations because he was chartering a private jet to take us home."

You really should read the whole thing, which is on page two of the article, past the usual brickbats tossed at the Dodgers ownership. It's an important reminder that on-the-field performance should not necessarily be conflated with a person's character.

It's been quite a stroll down memory lane, going through these boxes. Apparently, I saved just about every piece of paper ever handed to me, including but not limited to: a program from San Ramon Valley High's 1986 production of You Can't Take It With You featuring my stellar turn as FBI Man No. 3; a copy of the Contra Costa Times sports section from February 1994 -- it was the morning after the women's figure skating competition in that year's Olympics -- that was in one of my boxes for no discernable reason; and every rejection letter from every newspaper I wrote to in college looking for a job. I suppose the snot-nosed punk in me intended that to be either some sort of perverse form of motivation or a nascent enemies list of the people on whom I would have my revenge once I made it in this business. ("I'm executive editor of the Web site for a major monthly magazine now -- in your face, West Valley Times editor who turned me down for an internship in 1992!") Those items and dozens more like them found their way into the recycling bin. I'm also sad to report that anyone planning a biography of me will have to soldier on without letters written by girls I dated in the early '90s unless you manage to rifle through my garbage before the Alameda County Industries trucks pull up in front of my house at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

It was a journey full of emotional highs ("Say, I wasn't a bad writer back then...") and lows ("Oh wait... yes, I was"), from assessments both positive ("Well, I turned out pretty well...") and negative ("I am a talentless hack who wasted all his early promise). Mostly negative ("I am a talentless hack who never even had the benefit of early promise.") But it was also the chance to come across a lot of stuff I had hanging on the walls of my bedroom in high school that I just can't bring myself to toss out without taking one more shot at finding them a good home.

So I thought I'd offer them to you people.

These are some posters I found amid a box of Garfield books I didn't even remember I owned. They're not necessarily in mint condition, but they're not in horrible shape, either. Who knows? Maybe there's something beyond the jump that'll strike your fancy -- it's yours for a kind word and the cost of postage.

"No. It stayed a hat. And no. I didn't chase it. Nothing more foolish than a man chasing his hat."--Miller's Crossing

I noticed a strange occurrence during yesterday's A's game -- even more strange than the Radio Silence phenomenon experienced earlier on the road trip. When I wasn't wearing my A's cap yesterday, Oakland would submit meekly to the Tigers' pitching. However, when I put my cap on, the A's would rally, scoring runs with apparent ease. Conversely, I noticed that if I left my hat on when the Tigers came to bat, they would start threatening the A's lead; remove the cap, and Oakland would wriggle its way out of the inning.

I'm a big believer in the scientific method, of backing up fantastical claims with scads of peer-reviewed research. I do not truck with urban legends, old wives' tales, and other nonsense based on fancy not fact. I don't believe in spooks. And I don't have much use for people who do.

And yet, I spent Saturday morning into afternoon, putting on and removing my hat at appropriate intervals, lest my failure to do so have some unwanted impact on events taking place some 2,400 miles away.

This is not the sign of a well mind.

The indignities of daily life? Other people? Yourself?

Yes, yes, I hate all of that. But today, the thing I particularly hate on this morning is when Fox uses a local-yokel analyst as part of its baseball play-by-play teams.

More specifically, I hate when Fox picks up an A's game and uses the other team's local-yokel analyst.

It's using nothing personal, unless the yokel in question is Rex Hudler. It's just that the local-yokel, while well-versed in the comings and goings of his own team, knows next to nothing about the opponent. So the depth of analysis tends to be one-sided at best and infuriatingly inaccurate at worst.

Case in point: I am watching the Fox telecast of the A's-Tigers game in which the color commentary is coming from Rod Allen, who is part of the Tigers broadcast team. (I never much cared for Allen during my MLB Extra Innings days. He's not as bad as Hudler or the nincompoops employed by the Seattle Mariners, but he's certainly more on the poor end of the scale, at least in my opinion. But that's neither here nor there.) The A's have a runner on second in the top of the first. There are two outs and Eric Chavez is up at the plate.

Rod Allen decides this is the perfect time for the Tigers to pitch around Chavez. "I know it's very early, but you do have the base open and you do have the two outs going against the left-handed hitter in Chavez," Allen says. "Left-handers have really clobbered [Detroit starter Zach Miner] this year."

That's some good local insight there, Rod. Now let me share with you a few things from an Oakland fan's perspective.

* Eric Chavez ain't clobbering anyone right now. According to the Chronicle, he's driven in one run in the last 19 games. Take that back to June 8, and he's hitting a crisp .132; he's struck out 33 times in that time frame.

* Do you really want that extra base-runner on there with Frank "All I Do Is Homer Now" Thomas next up in the lineup?

* Seriously -- any base hit that he gets is by accident right now. Maybe you noticed him going 0-5 in last night's game and hitting a weak comebacker to end the A's last-ditch rally in the ninth?

The Tigers, who are apparently smarter than Rod Allen, did not pitch around Eric Chavez. And Chavez obliged them by popping out to right to end the inning.

Then again, I shouldn't be too hard on Rod Allen. Sure, he seems to think that Eric Chavez can still hit right now, but then again, so does Ken Macha, since he keeps battting Chavez fourth. Allen's excuse is that he rarely gets to see the A's play; Macha supposedly watches every game. You'd think someone might show him a stat sheet every now and again.

Now when I'm listening to a game at work, I have this habit of taking off the headphones when I come across a task I really need to concentrate on -- it's difficult enough editing stories without having to do it while sweating through an Esteban Loaiza pitch sequence -- and putting the headphones back on once the task is completed. That's what I was doing Thursday night -- only everytime I put the headphones back on, it seemed to coincide with the Red Sox either scoring or an A's rally fizzling out.

Mike Lowell's home run? Heard that. Trot Nixon singling home David Ortiz? Heard that, too. And yes, I also heard Jason Kendall ground into an inning-ending double-play in the fourth, and the A's making three quick outs after a Nick Swisher walk to lead off the fifth. Swisher's home run? Had the headphones off for that one, naturally.

"And so the A's go quietly in the sixth," Vince Cotroneo might as well said. "Now for the love of God, Michaels, will you stop listening to the game so that Oakland at least has a fighting chance?"

Good enough for me. I turned off the radio.

Later that night, the wife and I went out for dinner and noticed that the game was still on TV. (I don't think I even have to mention that I wasn't listening when the A's tied it in the seventh.) By that time, it was the eleventh inning, and Oakland held a 5-3 lead. There were two outs, when Kirk Saarloos gave up a hit to Jason Varitek that plated Gabe Kapler -- apparently, this strange voodoo curse thing also works with television. Needless to say, when Lowell grounded out to end the game, I was cowering under a table somewhere.

So to recap Thursday night's action -- I saw every Boston run. I missed every A's run. And everytime I did pay attention to the game, something miserable happened to Oakland.

I hope this is a one-time freak occurance and not a trend for the remainder of the second half. Otherwise, baseball is going to be a grim amusement for me for the rest of the season, as I receive sporadic reports of A's games from inside my Fortress of Solitude.

1) Hold it for the next six weeks.
2) Rent a port-a-john.

Since I lack the necessary discipline, we went with the port-a-john option. It sets right there next to our garage on what happens to be a very busy intersection. Nevertheless, our experience with throwback plumbing has passed without incident, save for the fact that Lisa swears that every time she uses the facilities, entire convoys pull up at all four corners to point and stare.

Or it had passed without incident until the other night.

I was awoken at 3 a.m. by the unmistakable sound of inebriated chatter -- either drunks or teens or, most likely, drunken teens. Then, I heard another unmistakable sound -- that of drunkards rocking a port-a-john back and forth as if to tip it.

Well, I flew into action, so long as you define "flew" as got out of bed, flipped on the lights, tracked down some slippers, grabbed an implement of toilet defense, and eventually sauntered outside to dispense a little street justice. By that time, the drunks or teens or drunken teens had fled, which was just as well given my poor choice of implements. The toilet remained upright though knocked askew at a 60-degree angle from where we had placed in in our yard.

(My implement was a very long, very sharp kitchen knife -- perfectly fine for dicing onions but not so good at fending off punks trying to tip over outhouses. Sadly, this was the best choice on short notice. I don't own a gun, not out of some aversion to gun ownership but rather because the over-under on me shooting off my own foot would be about five minutes after picking one up. Back when I lived up in the mountains, I had a hatchet that I could use to chase off potential evil-doers, but again, you city folk tend to over-react to the sight of a man running down the street waving a hatchet. Long story short, I think it's time to peruse the merchandise over at Easton.)

All of this is a round-about way of saying that the fight-or-flight reflex had kicked in, and getting back to sleep was just not going to happen. And after perusing the morning papers -- the ones that had been published online at that early hour anyhow -- I found myself with a surplus of time on my hands and unfocused energy.

That's when I came across this Los Angeles Times article on the all-time Dodger/Angels team. The conceit is that it's a 25-man roster filled with players who spent time on both Southern California clubs during the course of their careers.

It's not a very formidable squadron. The best player on the team is Don Sutton, who was the ace of the Dodger staff during his tenure in Chavez Ravine and a valuable contributor to the Angels when he played in Anaheim. And after Sutton, it's a long drop down -- a lot of spots taken up by the likes for Frank Robinson, who had a cup of coffee with both teams at the end of his career, and Steve Bilko, who did his most prodigious hitting for the Angels when they were in the Pacific Coast League.

But that set my racing mind a-thinking: just who would be on a joint A's-Giants team made up for players who played for both franchises during their careers? And could that Bay Area All-Star squadron take on its Southern California counterpart?

These are the questions that trouble me at 3 a.m.

Actually, what was more troubling was finding a list of players who had been on both the A's and Giants since 1968 (the year that the Athletics arrived in Oakland). I seem to remember seeing such a list in one of the old Oakland media guides, but a cursory search turned up nothing. Google was no help. And my memory figured to be even more useless. So what I did was pan through 37 years of rosters for each franchise at Baseball-reference.com and look for identical names. I eventually found enough people to fill up a 25-man roster -- had a lot of time on my hands, remember? -- but I almost certainly overlooked someone who should be on the team. I welcome your corrections and denunciations.

Two people who aren't on the team, but probably should be are Willie McCovey and Orlando Cepeda. Obviously, Stretch and the Baby Bull established their hall of fame credentials with the Giants. Across the Bay? Not so much. Cepeda logged all of three at bats in an Oakland uniform; McCovey trumped him at 24 at bats. And all this came at a time when, if you were a Major League ballplayer and Charlie Finley hadn't traded for you, chances were good that you had died during the off-season. Anyhow, I wanted my joint Bay Area team to include players who spent at least half-a-season with each club. (There are a couple of exceptions out of necessity.) So McCovey and Cepeda are out -- if you disagree with my reasoning, let me hear about it in the comments.

So, let's get this pointless exercise -- fueled by an insomniac's rage -- started with a look at the starting infield...

1B: Dave Kingman
2B: Ray Durham
SS: Tito Fuentes
3B: Phil Garner

Kong is probably the second best player to spend any length of time on both sides of the Bay. He hit 100 home runs as an Athletic and another 77 with the Giants -- I seem to recall him making an All-Star Game with Oakland as well, even though Baseball-Reference says I'm full of hoey. Ray Durham spent half-a-season in Oakland, but it happened to coincide with a 20-game win streak; one might argue that the subsequent four seasons in San Francisco have been less eventful. Tito Fuentes played his first nine years in San Francisco... and wrapped up his career furtively in Oakland at a time the A's were just a miserable ball club. Remember that exception I mentioned in the paragraph about McCovey and Cepeda? That accounts for Phil Garner's presence on the team. He broke in with the A's, he made all of 14 plate appearances with the Giants, but I'll be damned if I can find another third baseman who spent any amount of time with both teams.

Your starting outfielders...

RF: Felipe Alou
CF: Billy North
LF: Dusty Baker

I vowed to myself to limit this team to just one Alou -- all three brothers spent time on each side of the Bay, but Felipe probably had the best season in both locales (.271/.308/.367 in his one full season in Oakland, plus six solid seasons with the Giants). Billy North is one of the few cross-Bay All Stars who can claim decent stints in both cities. (Well, San Francisco, not so much, but we loved those World titles in Oakland, Billy!) You didn't think I would pass up an excuse to put Dusty Baker -- the favorite player of my misspent youth -- on the team, did you?

Your starting rotation...

Vida Blue
Kelly Downs
Gil Heredia
Scott Sanderson
John D'Acquisto

Looking at contributions to both franchises, Vida Blue is the best player to ply his trade in both Oakland and San Francisco. He won a Cy Young and MVP award in Oakland. By my count, 72 of his 209 career wins came as a Giant. And in his post-career days, his miserable experiences with Finley so soured him on Oakland that he sought out and won a front-office sinecure with San Francisco.

As for the rest of the rotation, Downs is probably remember fondly on neither side of the Bay. Same goes for Sanderson, assuming he's even remembered at all 'round these parts. (He spent the bulk of his multi-city career in Montreal and Wrigley.) John D'Acquisto is there because, well, convention, these days demands that a rotation have five starters. And as for Dr. Gil (20 games as a Giant, far too many as an Athletic)...

Years from now, when I am bouncing my still-as-of-yet-theoretical son on my knee, boring him to tears with tales of baseball, I expect he will look at me and say, "Daddy... did the A's really give a lifelong mediocrity like Gil Heredia two starts in the 2000 American League divisional series against the Yankees, including a start in the decisive Game Five?" And I will look at my son with love in my eyes and say, "Shut up, kid. I don't flaunt your failures in your face, do I?"

Your closer...

CL: Keith Foulke

Yeah, I went with Foulke, for his one terrific season with the A's and his 11-game cup of coffee in San Francisco, if for no other reason, than to remind Giants fans that Joe Nathan wasn't the only closer to get away. Besides, consider the rest of the bullpen...

Relievers: Tim Worrell, Elias Sosa, Goose Gossage, Ernie Camacho, Jay Watisick

Not exactly the Murderers' Row of pitching staffs. Worrell and Witasick had their moments with both clubs, Goose was past his prime by the time he hit the Bay, and Ernie Camacho is a live, warm body. As for Elias Sosa...

Here's a bit of trivia that will impress exactly no one... Elias Sosa is one of two pitchers to play for four of the five Major League teams in California (A's, Giants, Dodgers, Padres). The other? The aforementioned John D'Acquisto (A's, Giants, Padres, Angels). Amuse your friends and irritate your neighbors with this insubstantial bit of knowledge.

You know what position I haven't dealt with yet? Catcher. You know why?

Because the guys who played catcher for both the A's and the Giants were kind of awful.

Near as I can figure, Bill Bathe, Bob Kearney, and Brent Mayne were the only three players to don the tools of ignorance in both the 415 and 510 area codes. (This is by no means an exhaustive study.) When Brent Mayne is your best choice for a backstop, you are dealing with a thin crop of candidates. We'll go with Bathe as the backup for his ultimately pointless heroics in Game Three of the the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.

Bob Kearney never played in a Bay Bridge World Series.

The rest of the bench

1B: Mike Aldrete
2B: Manny Trillo
SS: Johnny LeMaster
3B/OF: Kevin Mitchell
OF: Mike Kingery

Mitchell's a bit of a cheat since he was in no physical shape to play third by the time he wound up in Oakland. Mike Kingery is the subject of one of my all-time favorite baseball puns. ("A horse! A horse! Mike Kingery for a horse!") Johnny LeMaster is here because I love to rub Jason's nose in his existence.

Now the real question: Could this Bay-Area All-Star Team -- managed by Alvin Dark, who won pennants in both cities -- defeat a team comprised entirely of Shakespearian characters? I do not like our chances.

After a lovely day admiring livestock and crafts at the Alameda County Fair followed by drinks with enjoyable social companions, Lisa and I were driving home when the bottom of the eighth began with the A's trailing 6-0. That's when I did my "greatest comeback" bit, which Lisa responded to with stony indifference.

And damn if Oakland didn't nearly pull it off.

All the same, I thought to myself this morning, I hope that the Athletics are taking no comfort in Saturday's eighth inning uprising. Up until the eighth, the A's had managed four hits since the fourth inning of Thursday night's contest -- or, exactly four more hits than you and I had combined during that same time frame. And for most of the game, Jerad Weaver had the Oakland offense effectively neutered. Most of the A's output occurred against Brendan Donnelly, who should really just change his name to Done-ly at this point and consider a career change. Perhaps there's a picket line at some factory he can cross.

So what I hope is that the A's realize they've been playing some pretty awful ball the last couple of days and that they make the necessary adjustments in today's pre-All Star Break finale, rather than point to one inning against a declining reliever as a sign of great things to come.

That's your cue, Nick Swisher.

"It's good for us to start to show sings of life,'' Oakland's Nick Swisher said. "Even though we came up short, this was good for us to go right into tomorrow -- because the game is in like five hours. I think people need to realize we're still in first place, regardless of how things are going.''

Uh huh. Well, at least no one's going to another lackluster Joe Blanton effort -- 9 hits and 3 walks in just 5 2/3 innings -- on something as inane as one questionable strike call.

Melhuse and Blanton (8-8) both thought the previous pitch [to Maicer Izturis before his third-inning homer] was a strike. "That looked like a pretty good pitch, and we went back to it, and he put the good part of the bat on the ball,'' Melhuse said. "That's one of those things: If we get the call, we get out of it. It's kind of the way things have been going.''

Fabulous.