Where is the Kings Home Sweet Home?

As the NBA season wraps up, Josh and Matt discuss if Anaheim is the best landing spot for the Sacramento Kings ... and if not, which city in California would be best suited should the Kings ultimately leave Sacramento as they plan to?

Sharpie Scribbles -- Chapter II, Pete Incaviglia vs. Cory Snyder

-- by Josh Suchon

Note to readers: The feedback on the “You Were Lucky, Hershiser” story was so positive, and triggered so many memories from a childhood where my playground was the Oakland Coliseum, I’ve decided to share more of these stories. I’m blatantly stealing this idea from “Cardboard Gods” author Josh Wilker, who used his baseball card collection to tell the story of his childhood in the 1970s. Wilker gave me his blessing, so I’m going to use my autograph collection to tell the story of my childhood in the 1980s.

This is the story of two outfielders who were first-round picks, made their major-league debuts in 1986, hit a lot of home runs, struck out a ridiculous number of times … and took drastically different approaches to signing autographs.

Cory Snyder signed his name like he’d been practicing it his entire life, and wanted to show off what he created.

Pete Incaviglia signed his name like a guy closing out his bar tab at 2 a.m., and wanted to dispute the charges the next day.

If you couldn’t get Snyder’s autograph, you were the worst autograph collector ever. If you obtained Incaviglia’s autograph, you wondered what was the whole point in collecting this stuff?

There’s at least 13 Snyder autographs in my collection. There’s probably a few more, but I got tired of pulling them out of the protective sleeves this afternoon to take these photos.

The only reason I don’t have 13 more Snyder autographs is I didn’t have anything else left to get signed, or I got completely bored from the lack of challenge. I got his signature inside the Coliseum, outside at the parking lot, inside the team hotel, outside at spring training, and writing him in the mail.

Can’t tell you which autograph was obtained in which location because there’s too many for my memory. It does seem like the cleaner the loop, or the longer the loop, the more likely it was signed while seated and taking his time – which would mean through the mail. The shorter, or sloppier the loop, was obtained at the ballpark.

It’s crazy, but I have more Snyder autographs than any other player, and he only came to Oakland twice a year with the Indians. Imagine if Snyder played for the A’s and I had access to him every day? I might have used Snyder autographs as wallpaper in my bedroom.

Then there’s Incaviglia.

The one, and only one Incaviglia autograph that I obtained was so awful, it’s the inspiration for the name of this feature – Sharpie Scribbles.

It’s by far the worst autograph out of the 1,200-something in my childhood collection. It was the source of great laughter the day he signed it, and remains hideously hilarious to stare at now.

Granted, Incaviglia is not the easiest name to spell. A shortcut would seem to be in order. But look at this thing. It’s like he forgot how to spell his last name, crossed out a couple letters midway, and just scribbled a few more things at the end.

I’m pretty confident the Incaviglia scribble was obtained in 1987. That was my first year of serious Sharpie Scribble collecting, and I alternated between a red and black sharpie. This was before I was wise enough to bring a small clipboard to place the cards on, so there was a better writing surface, instead of the players cradling the baseball cards in their hands.

I vividly remember it happened in the player parking lot at the Oakland Coliseum before a game. I’m pretty sure Incaviglia took a shuttle with teammates from the team hotel. I recall there were about a dozen people getting autographs that day.

It wasn’t a mob scene – this was the Texas Rangers in 1987, after all -- but I’ll give Incaviglia the benefit of the doubt that somebody probably bumped his elbow mid-signature. Sure hope that’s the excuse.

Still, this is a pathetic effort.

These days, at age 38, I’m not sure if there’s a correlation between your on-field performance and the care you take to signing your name for a kid in a parking lot. Back then, at age 14, the effort you put into scribbling your name had a direct correlation on what I thought about you as a human being.

That autograph meant Incaviglia was a slob, he signed his name the way he butchered fly balls in left field, and his lackadaisical approach to spelling was the reason he would always strike out so frequently.

And that meant Snyder was an artist, he signed his name with the same grace as he unleashed bazooka-like throws from right field, and the style of that arc in his signature was the reason he’d eventually stop striking out.

This was pure nonsense, of course, but those are the kind of conclusions you make at age 14. When you’re that age, you look for reasons to like somebody or not like somebody.

The list of reasons why I’d like a player back in those days: their willingness to sign autographs; their actual talent on the field; the quality of the autograph; the coolness of their name; and the way they looked.

Snyder looked very much like a kid who went to BYU. Very white, almost albino. Classic cop moustache. Trim, clean cut and preppy. Can’t remember what he wore to the ballpark, but the image that sounds right is lots of pole shirts and slacks, like Kevin Costner in Bull Durham.

If he wasn’t in a Cleveland Indians uniform in these baseball cards, you’d think Cory Snyder was Jeff Kent. It was almost like a young Jeff Kent, who was a senior in high school when Snyder made his big-league debut in 1986, took one look at Snyder and said, “yeah, that’s the look I’m going to rock the next three decades.”

It’s not hard to understand why I’d want so many Snyder autographs.

Snyder was on the 1984 Olympic team. He was fourth in balloting for the 1986 Rookie of the Year, behind my hero Jose Canseco, hated rival Wally Joyner and the forgotten Mark Eichhorn. He was on the cover of Sports Illustrated. He was a Topps all-star rookie and a Donruss rated rookie and a Fleer major league prospect.

And, evidently, he never said no to an autograph request.

Snyder was going to be a star, his baseball cards were going to be worth a lot of money, and his autographs were going to be worth even more money. Or so I thought.

Incaviglia looked very much like a kid who went to Oklahoma State. Can’t recall his attire to the ballpark either, but it’s fun to imagine cowboy boots, jeans, dip in the back pocket, and a t-shirt that showed off his biceps and was untucked to hide an expanding gut. It would make the autograph story better if I said Incaviglia had a big wod of tobacco in his mouth and he was spitting all over the ground as he signed. But that’s just not true either.

The horrible scribbling didn’t stop me from trying to get another Incaviglia autograph. Getting those scribbles was a sport, and I didn’t take a moral stand based on a bad signature. I was just never successful at getting another Incaviglia scribble.

The signature is supposed to look like this.

It occurred to me, as I was writing this, that it would be best to see what an Incaviglia autograph is supposed to look like. A quick Google search of “Pete Incaviglia autograph” led to a plethora of examples.

Few were any good. Most were bad. None were as bad as mine. The best one, shown at the left, shows the intended scribbling. In theory, I can see what Incaviglia was trying to scribble for me that day. It's still pretty ugly.

Upon more reflection, maybe the 14-year-old Josh was correct. Maybe his autograph was a metaphor for his baseball swing – all or nothing. Too many loops, not enough decipherable letters. Too much whiffing, not enough solid contact. 

It didn't seem like Incaviglia cared about strikeouts or a sloppy signature. If he messed up an autograph, who cares? He was a big leaguer. He'd get asked again the next day, over and over, by another group of kids. If he struck out, who cares? He's a power hitter. He'd be in the lineup the next day because there's a chance he'd hit one 450 feet. 

In the batters box, Cory Snyder and Pete Incaviglia were incredible similar. With a sharpie in hand, they were totally different.

For all I know, Cory Snyder might the biggest jerk ever. But he signed at least 13 autographs for me over four years, and put some thought into a clever signature. That means he was always good people in my mind.

Pete Incaviglia could be the coolest guy ever. But the one time he scribbled on one of my baseball cards, it was the worst autograph in my four years of collecting. Fair or not, that’s what I think of him.

At least he provided the inspiration for “Sharpie Scribbles.”

Sharpie Scribbles – Chapter I, Jose Canseco

-- by Josh Suchon

Note to readers: The feedback on the “You Were Lucky, Hershiser” story was so positive, and triggered so many memories from a childhood where my playground was the Oakland Coliseum, I’ve decided to share more of these stories. I’m blatantly stealing this idea from “Cardboard Gods” author Josh Wilker, who used his baseball card collection to tell the story of his childhood in the 1970s. Wilker gave me his blessing, so I’m going to use my autograph collection to tell the story of my childhood in the 1980s.

  

The last time I asked for an autograph was the spring of 1991, a couple months before I graduated from high school. In the 21 years that have passed, I’ve often wondered what the hell to do with all these Sharpie Scribbles.

When I made the switch from poorly-paid Major League Baseball newspaper reporter to barely-above-minimum-wage Minor League Baseball play-by-play announcer, in 2007, I briefly looked into selling the autograph collection because I needed money.

The biggest problem with selling these Sharpie Scribbles is that none are authenticated. The autographs were obtained in person inside ballparks, outside in the players parking lots, in hotel lobbies, by writing players in the mail, and from waiting in lines at baseball card shows.

There’s nothing I can do to prove they’re real, except explain the following:

·           *  Who would bother to forge Storm Davis’ autograph that many times?

·           *  Who else would try to get every card from the 1987 Topps Opening Day series autographed?

·           * There’s very little rhyme or reason for what I got signed, and why I chose that object.

·           * I didn’t have a girlfriend in high school.

Look at the Jose Canseco autographs in this post. An appraiser would see three different signatures and question the validity. I look at them, and reflect on the love-hate relationship that I experienced with my favorite athlete.

Canseco was a God in the late 1980s. He hit titanic bombs, dated the hottest chicks, and drove super fast in super expensive sports cars. What was not to worship as a teen-ager?

Well, even though I denied it and defended him constantly, it was pretty obvious that Canseco used steroids. If you went to my high school and liked the Giants, you dismissed Canseco’s exploits by saying it was all due to steroids, especially if you were tired of hearing me brag about Canseco.

One friend wrote the following in my junior yearbook, referring to the effects of steroids: “Although Canseco has no penis, he can hit the ball. He just looks stupid trotting around the bases.”

In 1987, during my first year of serious Sharpie Scribble collecting, some girl in the Coliseum bleachers threw a baseball onto the field at Canseco. It was picked up by Stan Javier. He read what was written on the ball, laughed, and threw it into the stands. My friend Todd caught it.

Can’t remember the exact words written, but I know the girls made it clear they were ready to get naked with Canseco, and they included a phone number.

After the game, when we were back at my home, Todd called the number. Don’t ask me our game plan. I was too scared to call. My heart raced when he dialed the numbers. Todd did all the talking. I sat there and listened, worried that we’d get in trouble.

A girl answered the phone. I remember there was at least one more girl in the room, maybe a third. My guess is the girls were in their early-to-mid 20s. We had no idea what they looked like. All we knew is they had the hots for Jose Canseco, and it seemed like a good idea to call the number.

Todd tried pretending that he was Ozzie Canseco, the twin brother of Jose. The girls didn’t buy it. Shocker, huh?

Once it was clear the gig was up, Todd made some comment about their loose inhibitions. They responded by mocking us for being little boys who can’t handle it, or something like that. They were right. I was 13, going on 14 years old, and didn’t know what to think of women who wrote sexually suggestive things on a baseball and threw it onto the field for a player to read.

Even though that phone call was an unmitigated disaster, it still added to the legend of Canseco in my mind. It made me worship him even more. Girls threw baseballs at him with a phone number on it, and somehow my friend was calling these girls.

The hate in my one-way relationship with Canseco was based on how difficult it was getting his autograph. He was the most popular player, mobbed everywhere he went, and full of ego. It didn’t help that my friends and I were in the player’s parking lot practically every day. I’m sure we annoyed every player, including Canseco.

The sprint from parking lot left to parking lot right. 

One time, I remember seeing Canseco’s fancy car avoiding the regular players’ parking lot and guessed that he was going to park on the other side of the Coliseum. Todd and I climbed up the ice plant embankment, sprinted across the mezzanine level that separates the Arena and the Coliseum, and rushed down another ice plant embankment to get in position for an autograph.

We were the only two kids there. No mob of people. Just us and Jose. I figured there was no way he wouldn’t sign for us.

Wrong. He blew us off.

That night, I ripped the two Canseco posters off my bedroom walls. My dad calmed me down, and said some reassuring words that I don’t recall now. The next day, I put the posters back up on the wall. The only damage was a few tears and bends.

During the early stages of my autograph collecting, I’d send my best cards in the mail to players. That was a colossal mistake. I once wrote Canseco in the mail, and like an idiot, sent a couple of his rookie cards in the mail. Never saw those cards again. So stupid.

As the photos indicate, I was eventually successful in getting Canseco’s autograph. I found four in a cursory check through the autograph trunk today. I’m pretty sure there were a few more Sharpie Scribbles that I traded, or sold, or are buried deeper inside that trunk.

I vividly remember one time Canseco stopped to sign. Those days were rare. You’d be so nervous and excited, a nerdy kid would become even more nerdy. Can’t remember if it was one of my friends or somebody else, but a pen was dropped.

“You eat with those hands?” Canseco said.

It was a pretty mean thing to say, but I thought it was hilarious. Any joke by Canseco was hilarious. For the next few weeks, if somebody dropped anything around me, I’d say, “you eat with those hands?”

As for the different types of Canseco autographs, here’s the explanation:

If you paid the five or ten bucks -- or whatever the cost was back then -- for the right to stand in line at a baseball card show and get Canseco’s autograph, he wrote his entire last name. The one time I forked over the money, I chose an 8x10 photo, and Jose wrote his uniform number too. (Why he signed across his crotch still annoys me to this day.)

If you obtained Canseco’s autograph at the ballpark, you got “Jo-Cans” scribbled. You see that version in the autographs on my 1988 Mother’s Cookies card, my 1986 Donruss Highlights card, and my 1985 Huntsville Stars card. The minor league card is my favorite Canseco autograph, mostly because I recall sensing he was impressed I’d have such a rare card in my collection.

As for the third version, which goes up the side of the 1987 Donruss Diamond Kings, that signature is Jose’s dad. His name was also Jose. He was waiting for his son in the parking lot after a game. I didn’t want to waste getting an autograph of Jose’s dad on a good Jose card, but who cared about a Diamond Kings card that was barely worth a dollar? You're probably wondering why I'd want Jose's dad to autograph his own kid's baseball card. I have no explanation. It was a weird time in my life. The more Sharpie Scribbles, the better. 

Canseco autographs were discussed for their type – was it a Jo-Cans or a Jose Canseco? The full name autographs were more impressive, but you knew they were obtained at a card show and cost money.

August 20, 1990 issue of Sports Illustrated, page 51

In the summer of 1990, Canseco came to my high school for a fundraiser. The event was put together at the last minute. I can’t remember hearing any publicity for it. Word just traveled by mouth. Canseco came to sign autographs for a student named J.O. Splitstoser, who was badly injured in a car accident that left him paralyzed for life in a wheelchair.

Canseco didn’t charge any money for his appearance. It was five or ten bucks a person, and all that money went to buying a special van for J.O.’s parents to help get him from place to place. People lined up around the school for hours. It was supposed to be an hour or two. Canseco ended up signing for 4 ½ hours.

Rick Reilly even mentioned the signing in a 1990 Sports Illustrated cover story about Canseco. That sealed it. Canseco wasn't perfect, but he came to my school for a good cause. He was good people and worthy of my support. 

***

The first time I covered an Oakland A’s game as an Oakland Tribune reporter was on July 19, 1997. It was about two months after I was hired as a full-time reporter to cover high school sports. The beat writer took that day off, and with all the other usual backups busy or on vacation, I was given a one-day perk to cover the A’s.

I remember walking into the clubhouse and thought, “the last time I was in here, I wasn’t supposed to be in here.”

Those years run together in my mind, but pretty sure it was 1989. My friend and I, whose name won’t be mentioned because of what he did, were at the ballpark extremely early, even by our standards. It was around 11 am. The game didn’t start until 7 pm. Can’t remember why we were there so early, but we roamed everywhere at the empty Coliseum.

We found a back door to the press box unlocked and poked our noses around in there for awhile. Then we saw an elevator, pressed the bottom button, and figured that would take us back to the concourse. We walked outside the elevator and didn’t know where we were. We turned right and realized it was the A’s clubhouse. Nobody was in there. Not even security.

My friend went to Canseco’s locker, grabbed two brand-new bats from the boxes above, and we ran out of there as fast as possible. I thought for sure we’d get caught, and I’d get arrested, even though I didn’t do anything except watch. I’ve never been more terrified in all my years at the Coliseum.

Now, it was eight years later, and I was in the clubhouse as a member of the media.

Canseco, back in his second tour with the A’s, went 3-for-5 with a double, home run, stolen base and four RBIs in the first Major League Baseball game I ever covered. In the seventh inning, Canseco hit a laser beam to straight away center. It clanked off the suites that were built for football and sit empty for baseball. Of all the home runs I’d ever seen Canseco hit, that was the most impressive.

The 15-year-old myopic kid inside me felt there was something cosmic going on, that Canseco put on that performance just for me, and this was all related to my childhood obsession with him. The 23-year-old who was trying to prove himself as an objective reporter played it cool. Well, tried to play it cool.

After the game, I followed the other reporters into the clubhouse. I was way too intimidated to ask a question. I listened and took notes. The first stop was manager Art Howe’s office and I remember Howe saying Canseco doesn’t need to pull the ball to hit home runs. (Duhhh, that’s what I told my childhood friends back in the 1980s.)

The next stop was the player’s area. The first player I saw was Jose Canseco.

All those years of chasing him, writing letters to him, defending him to classmates at school, cheering him at games and on TV, tearing down his poster and putting it back up, and now he was right in front of me – and it was my job to get quotes from him for the next day’s paper.

The veteran reporters asked the questions in the group interview, which only lasted a few minutes. I tried not to let anybody know just how geeked up I was at the whole thing. What I remember was that Canseco was eager to leave, he wanted to play golf, his back was still hurting him, yet he was about to golf, and he wasn’t impressed by the distance of his home run.

It was less than two weeks before the trading deadline. Canseco’s name was in the rumor mill. The A’s were awful that year. They lost that game, were 19 games under .500, and 15 games behind the first-place Mariners at day’s end.

Maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn the 14,763 fans at the Coliseum that day gave Canseco a standing ovation because they wanted to tell him goodbye this time. When Canseco was traded in 1992, he was in the on-deck circle, pulled off the field, and the fans had no idea what was happening.

Canseco downplayed that it was his final hurrah with the A’s. So did Howe. As I’d learn as a more seasoned reporter years later, that’s what major league players and managers do. They downplay everything. They’re such buzz-kills.

Eleven days later, Mark McGwire would get traded to the Cardinals. That didn’t faze the teen-age kid in me, or the reporter. McGwire was always “Marco Solo” to me. He wasn’t even in my Top-10 of favorite A’s players. Canseco was different. Canseco was at the top.

Canseco didn’t get traded. His back got worse and he went on the disabled list on the trading deadline. He returned two weeks later, played a few more games and hit a few more home runs, before the back acted up again.

The last game Canseco ever played for the A’s was August 26, 1997. The next day, I turned 24 years old.

In 1998, Canseco signed with the Toronto Blue Jays and had a monster bounce-back season. I was given a few more opportunities as the fill-in A’s reporter that summer. My confidence grew with each assignment. My nervousness went away.

One of my fill-in games was August 18, 1998 against the BlueJays. I went up to Canseco after batting practice, without the safety net of the pack of reporters, and did a 1-on-1 interview with him. The lead item in my notebook was about Canseco. That night, Canseco hit a home run.

I remember thinking to myself, “again? You can stop showing off Jose. I’m not a kid anymore.”

The home run was down the left-field line. Just barely over the 330 sign. After the game, I said to Jose, “you’ve hit a lot of tape-measure home runs in this ballpark. Was this the shortest?”

Canseco laughed, and said, “It went, what, 331 feet?”

***

That was the last time I ever stood next to Jose Canseco, interviewed him, or covered a baseball game that he was in. The only other time that I wrote about him, before now, is when I did a review in The Trib of his infamous book that he now regrets writing.

If you’ve read the first 2,625 words of this story, you probably know what’s become of Canseco since 1998. It’s sad and pathetic, and every time Canseco is in the news for the wrong reasons, I feel like a fool for worshiping this guy as a teen-ager.

 

Still, my memories are fabulous. Those days weren't perfect, but life isn't perfect. We came. We tried to get Sharpie Scribbles. We tried again the next day.

The Oakland Coliseum was my playground during those formative teen-age years. Jose Canseco was larger than life in those years, and when I returned as a professional journalist a decade later, he homered both times that he was on the field and I was in the press box.

Cheers to you, Jo. Cans, and sorry my friend stole your bats.

The Perils of Being a Lakers Fan

- by Matt Hurst

It sucks being a Lakers fan.

Yeah, it feels weird to write and I doubt I'd ever actually say those words. You're probably thinking "Boo-hoo, Matt, you root for the Lakers. Why don't you just root for the government on tax day?" Some Golden State Warriors fan is looking at me and thinking "Really? Really?!"

Yes, it sucks being a Lakers fan.

I've been a loyal Lakers fan since I can remember. It's the blessing of growing up in Southern California where the Lakers are A-1 and everyone is interested and emotional about the team. There's always something to talk about with the Lakers.
And, that's the problem. The Lakers always make news. I don't care if it's for Lamar Odom's TMZ-type of episodes or what name and number Ron Artest is going to go with next year.

The issue is that when the Lakers aren't playing for a title - let alone winning one - something is wrong. The team needs to be blown up, changes need to be made, a new coach has to come in.

Those were all the suggestions following the Lakers' loss to Oklahoma City and why everyone is bitter that the Lake Show isn't starting the Western Conference Finals tonight.


It's Mike Brown's fault. Pau Gasol needs to be stronger. Andrew Bynum needs to be more mature.

All relevant points. But, sometimes a team just isn't as good as their competition. The No. 1 and 2 seeds in the West are playing for a trip to the Finals. Isn't that how it should be?

Whenever the Lakers fail to win a title, everyone wants to make ridiculous trades and bring in a new coach. Dwight Howard would help. No, he was hurt. Chris Paul would have helped. No, because Kobe needs the ball at all times. Gasol needs to stop being soft. Well, the Lakers won two titles with him playing the way he's been playing. Bynum needs to mature. He's been in the league seven years; I think he is what he is.

Rooting for the Lakers my entire life has brought me 10 NBA titles in my lifetime. That's about a third of my years celebrating a title. I'm entirely happy with that.

An online columnist once wrote that whenever your team wins it all, you then get a five-year grace period to not complain about that franchise, unless they go all 1998 Florida Marlins and start selling players for washing machines.

I am a firm believer in this. I am ecstatic to be a Lakers fan, but it sucks because no one else can ever be happy.

"Oh, the Lakers should have beaten Oklahoma City. They were better."

True. But, they blew two late-game leads and OKC took advantage and deservedly won. If the Lakers were really the Lakers, they would have won that series. Now, we have an entire offseason of "Let's trade Pau, Mike Brown is on the hot seat, let's build around Kobe."

And there's the problem.

The Lakers have to build around Kobe, but how many franchises build around a player entering his 16th year in the league?

The Spurs don't build around Tim Duncan. They complement him.

The Celtics don't build around Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett. They give them several pieces. They got a dynamic point guard to help.

Kobe Bryant is still an elite player, but for how much longer?

The Lakers have gotten themselves into such a situation where they cannot push Kobe to be the number two player and start building around a younger talent who can blossom. In fact, that's the worst possible way to do it since it was the Lakers who started building around Kobe Bryant when he was young, traded Shaq to make it "Kobe's Team" and gave Kobe the tools to succeed. What has he done? Well, he's won two titles with "his team." Two titles are awesome, but when you have two seven-footers and other complementary guys, that's dynasty material.

He needs those complementary pieces. Jordan had Pippen. Magic had Kareem. Bird had four guys around him.

Kobe has become synonymous with the Lakers and that's fine. He's a Hall of Famer. He's brought scoring titles, MVPs and a few titles to L.A. But, his ego and everyone's willingness to bend over backwards for him is the reason the Lakers are at home right now.

When the team hired Mike Brown everyone wanted to know what Kobe thought. Are you kidding me? He's a player, not the general manager. He doesn't need to make decisions. He needs to accept them.
If someone openly criticized Kobe for taking as many stupid shots as he does the way Kobe verbally slapped Pau Gasol across the face, everyone would be in an uproar. That's not what leaders do. His pig-headedness is the reason the Lakers are now forced to trade Gasol.

I'm sorry, but how many 7-footers have Gasol's skill set? Bynum certainly doesn't. Gasol may be soft, but he's smooth. The reason Gasol and others are afraid to shoot is because Kobe will yell at them, give them pissy looks and act like a petulant child. Sure, it's OK for Kobe to shoot 40 times a game and the one time Gasol passes up a shot, it's an issue? How about when Kobe threw a terrible pass that Durant intercepted and changed the outcome of the game? When a player is not in the flow of the offense, they hesitate when they shoot. That's what Kobe has done. Steve Blake had a great look at a game-winning three-pointer in Game 2 and everyone was worried about Kobe. Well, Kobe was double-teamed, couldn't get open and Blake was wide open. Sometimes people just miss shots. Had Kobe missed a wild, off-balanced shot, Lakers fans would have been better with that somehow than a good shooter taking a wide-open 3.

Weird, isn't it?

Let us also not forget that Kobe was caught on camera a few years ago wanting to trade Andrew Bynum.

Shaq kept Kobe in check. Kobe would try to prove a point and not shoot during games when Shaq criticized him. The issue was that Kobe was young and the veterans tried to teach him things and keep him in check. Kobe has not matured to that level and still feels he's 25 and can do whatever he wants on the court. When the Lakers had Gary Payton, Karl Malone, Shaq and Kobe, it was Kobe who sabotaged that team. Nice show of respect for guys like Payton and Malone trying to win a title.
Since he was given the keys to the franchise, Kobe has made it hard to be a Lakers fans because everyone still views Kobe with rose colored glasses. Problem is, he's old (by NBA standards). He has a ton of mileage on his tires and it shows. He's already played more years than Jordan. More than Bird.

The Lakers will not win another title with just Kobe in charge. They need another younger, uber-talented player to complement Kobe and hope that he is OK with it. If not, he will sabotage the team, never pass to the new player and cause an uproar forcing the Lakers to do something else.

And, that's why it sucks to be a Lakers fan. Yes, they're good. They're a team worth investing in. But, when a player runs the show, there are problems and that's why the Lakers are not in the Western Conference Finals.

Buying the Dodgers & Padres -- so similar, yet so different

At least five groups are interested in buying the Padres. Three of them tried to buy the Dodgers. What does this mean to a Dodgers-Padres rivalry that has always lagged behind the Dodgers-Giants rivalry? Matt and Josh discuss that, the influence of icons like Magic Johnson and Tony Gwynn, how similar these ownership sales are, and yet how different they are.

Wanna buy a baseball team? You need one of these icons

-- by Josh Suchon

It takes more than wads and wads of cash to buy a professional sports team these days. The newest trend is aligning yourself with an iconic former player of that team.

Nolan Ryan was part of the group that purchased the Texas Rangers, and now he’s the team president. Magic Johnson didn’t play baseball, but he’s such a Los Angeles icon, he was the ideal front man for the Guggenheim Baseball group that purchased the Dodgers.

Now comes word that Hollywood mogul ThomasTull has recruited Mr. Padre, Tony Gwynn, to assist his effort to buy the Padres. 

This got me thinking about who would be the icon for each baseball team. The list follows, after the criteria.

1. This should be incredibly obvious, but the former player needs to still be alive.

2. This should also be obvious, but you can’t have a current player as an owner.

3. It’s not just about what you did on the field. It’s your background, charisma, personality, ability to light up a room, and most important, ability to excite a fan base to buy tickets.

4. This shouldn’t just be a ceremonial position. You want the icon to actually work. Magic Johnson says he’s going to recruit free agents and be front-and-center dealing with fans. It doesn’t hurt if the player made a boatload of money during his career, so he can contribute some millions to the winning bid. This means that age will be a factor. The person has to want the job and all that comes with being in the spotlight again.

I’ll go through each team in alphabetical order.

Atlanta: the current ownership group has Hank Aaron as a Senior Vice President. Aaron should always have a spot in the Braves front office. But if I was starting a new ownership group, I’d want more youth and energy on my side, so I’d go with John Smoltz.

Baltimore: the easiest choice, Cal Ripken, Jr. No explanation needed.

Boston: surprisingly, a difficult choice. The Red Sox have tons of legendary players, but a history of bad breakups with these stars. Just ask Roger Clemens, Nomar Garciaparra and Manny Ramirez. Not that you’d want any of them leading an ownership group. Once he retires, my choice would be David Ortiz. Great player, great smile, legendary clutch hits made the 2004 World Series title possible. But that still does me no good now. Jim Rice is a Hall of Famer, but not the front man for an ownership group. Wade Boggs, Dwight Evans and Carl Yastrzemski were beloved players, but not front men either. Dennis Eckersley is a Red Sox announcer, but he’s an Oakland A’s icon. Curt Schilling is too polarizing. Until the retirement of Big Pappi, I’d align myself with Pedro Martinez.

Chicago Cubs: first name that pops to mind is Ernie Banks, but his age makes it tough. Instead, I’m taking Greg Maddux.

Chicago White Sox: not a lot of selections from the 1970s and 1980s. Harold Baines was such a legend, they retired his number before he retired, and when he was on another team. But there’s not enough personality there. Instead, you have to think big and align yourself with Frank Thomas.

Cincinnati: Joe Morgan is a member of the Reds front office now, and it’s not just a ceremonial position. Considering how many people he annoyed as an ESPN announcer, I’d be scared to align myself with him. You can’t utilize Pete Rose because of his ban from baseball, even though he’s still the most beloved Red. That leaves Johnny Bench and Eric Davis. Bench had hip replacement surgery in 2004 and probably doesn’t have the energy for the job. That means I’d want Eric The Red.

Cleveland: another tough call with zero candidates from the 1970s and 1980s. You have to take somebody from the great run of teams from the 1990s. It’s too bad Roberto Alomar has faded from the public scene because I thought his best years were with Cleveland and he’s a Hall of Famer. You’d have to test the waters with him and see if the fire is there to inspire a fan base. If not, it’s either Jim Thome or Omar Vizquel. Flip a coin.

Dallas/Arlington: it’s already Nolan Ryan, and nobody else would be close.

DC: not around long enough, and the previous incarnation was terrible. I wouldn’t use Expos players, like Andre Dawson, to win over fans in DC. It wouldn’t work.

Denver: only around since 1993, I’ll have to pass on the Rockies too. Troy Tulowitzki isn’t retiring for a long time, but he’ll be the icon for the next 40 years. Sorry, Todd Helton. Larry Walker and Andres Galarraga were the city’s first huge stars, but they’re not ownership material.

Detroit: tough choice here between Alan Trammell and Kirk Gibson. They were teammates on the 1984 World Series team. Trammell is remembered for his consistency and even-keel approach. Gibson played the game like a linebacker and brings the intensity. Both coached for the Tigers. Trammell was a disaster as the manager of a terrible Tigers team that had no chance to win. Can’t go wrong with either player. If forced to choose, I’d take Alam Trammell for his longevity in the organization.

Houston: this is Bagwell and Biggio. No brainer. You must have them both. They’re joined at the hip. Can’t take one without the other.

Kansas City: the only person for the job already has it, sorta. George Brett is the VP of Baseball Operations, but I guess this proves having an icon as part of you front office doesn’t matter if you don’t win. Still, if I’m buying the Royals, he’s part of my group and I put him to work doing something.

Los Angeles Angels: the best choice is already taken in Nolan Ryan. There’s truly nobody else. Sorry. Tim Salmon, Garret Anderson, Troy Percival, Brian Downing and Bobby Grich were great players. But none of them are the face of an ownership group. Maybe if Rod Carew had played his whole career here, it would be a different story. No wonder Arte Moreno did it solo and lowered the price of beer as his first move. Smart move. Once he’s retired, however, give me Torii Hunter’s smile to lead my ownership group.

Los Angeles Dodgers: Magic Johnson is part-owner, and I’m not sure any other non-baseball player could fill the role in another city. Check that. Any ownership group in Denver would want to get John Elway on their side in some capacity, regardless of the sport. Maybe Dan Marino in Miami. Maybe Charles Barkley in Phoenix. If you had to pick a former Dodger, you’d want Orel Hershiser. Considering he was part of a different ownership group that bid on the Dodgers, along with Steve Garvey, that proves it’s still more about cash than icons.

New York Mets: sure does say something about Nolan Ryan that he’s the best choice for three organizations. But he’s taken. The best cheerleader in team history was the late Gary Carter. Always wondered why the Mets didn’t utilize him more. Because of their drug histories, you couldn’t count on Darryl Strawberry or Dwight Gooden. Keith Hernandez is a Mets broadcaster, but still strikes me as too dry. Tom Seaver would be a very solid choice. But considering his age, his popularity and the amount of money he made in his career, I’d go with Mike Piazza to join my ownership group.

New York Yankees: once Derek Jeter retires, it’s a no-brainer. He’s the ultimate Mr. Yankee for the next 50 years. There isn’t really anybody else from those late-90s, early-2000s teams. Jorge Posada was a great team leader, but he’s not the face of an ownership group. Don Mattingly isn’t a bad choice, except he’s kinda busy in Los Angeles. Reggie Jacksonis a long-time member of the front office, the ultimate spokesman, and the clear choice.

Minnesota: if Kirby Puckett was still alive, he’s the easy selection. After him, it’s harder to find an icon. But considering he’s a St. Paul native and his performance in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, you have to pick Jack Morris.

Miami: extremely difficult to pick somebody. They’ve only been around since 1993. They won two World Series and tore down those teams immediately afterward. Gary Sheffield is the best player in franchise history, was on the 1997 World Series team, and you might forget he was there 4.5 years (I thought it was 2 or 3 before checking). Mr. Marlin is probably Jeff Conine, but he’s not somebody to lead an ownership group. I’d probably take nobody, but would place a call to Sheffield.

Milwaukee: the first choice would be somebody who never played for the Brewers, announcer Bob Uecker. Considering Uecker’s age and health, that you can’t take him out of the broadcast booth, and you can’t have an owner doing play-by-play every night, that leaves Hall of Famers Robin Yount and Paul Molitor. Yount gets the slight edge because he played his whole career with the Brewers. I’ve never spent extensive time around either, but always got the impression Molitor would be better at the actual job. Probably best to just recruit them both.

Montreal: just in case baseball ever returned, I’d easily select Pedro Martinez. He became a star in Montreal and never forgot the city. When the Red Sox won the 2004 World Series, Martinez went out of his way to talk about the Expos fans and city of Montreal in his interviews, like this was their world title too. It was the classiest of moves, something that I hope history doesn’t forget.

Oakland: another city where two players are a must, Rickey Henderson and Dave Stewart. Both grew up in Oakland, are the best of friends, and were on the 1989 World Series team. Stewart was a pitching coach and asst. general manager, and now he's an agent, so he’d have a very hands-on approach to the front office. Henderson would shake hands, kiss babies, make some more legendary speeches, get in uniform at spring training, and frame million dollar checks to confuse our accounting department.

Philadelphia: You pretty much have to select Mike Schmidt, right? He’s the best player in franchise history, a Hall of Famer, still involved with the team, and young enough to handle the job. I’m still not sure how good he’d be at the job, but I’d piggy-back off his fame to buy the team.

Phoenix: the organization’s only been around since 1998, so there aren’t many choices. The biggest superstar and 2001 World Series co-MVP is Randy Johnson. In his final years in the majors, he showed a side of his personality that wasn’t evident throughout most of his career. He’s not going to light up the room with his smile, and I have no idea what role he’d have on the team, but I’d take him because there aren’t any other strong candidates.

Pittsburgh: when Kevin McClatchy purchased the Pirates in the late 1990s, he was wise to align himself with Willie Stargell, and that relationship endeared him to the Pirates fans (well, temporarily). With the death of Stargell, it really only leaves Andy Van Slyke and Bobby Bonilla as candidates. Van Slyke would be the safer choice because he stayed in Pittsburgh longer (not that Bonilla and Barry Bonds had a choice in the matter). Still, I’d still go with Bobby Bonilla, who now works for the player's union. Don’t let his time in New York distract you from the personality he exuded with the Pirates. The smile was infectious. He’s the one who knew how to get the best out of Bonds, and he was fine doing all the interviews when Bonds just wanted to go home.

San Diego: the only person who comes close to Tony Gwynn’s popularity is Trevor Hoffman. It wouldn’t surprise me if Hoffman is the next player recruited for this ownership group. Even if he’s just a 0.1 percent owner, you need him in your front office because he was so great in the community and such an unbelievably classy act. Oh, and I just had an awful thought. What if a competing ownership group aligns itself with Hoffman? You can’t have Gwynn and Hoffman competing with each other, can you?

San Francisco: way harder than you would think for an organization that celebrates its past better than just anybody else. Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda and Juan Marichal are all on the payroll as Special Assistants. Still, those are ceremonial titles. They don’t have the age or health for day-to-day input. When Peter Magowan was the managing partner of the new ownership group in 1993, he sought out Mays because he’s Mays and that was his favorite player as a kid. Can you go with Barry Bonds yet? Don’t you have to wait until you see if he’s going to serve any jail time? After Bonds, the pickings are slim. Nobody from the 70s. Will Clark was the most popular player from the 1980s and still widely popular, but I’m not sure he’s ownership material. Bonds cast such a wide shadow, nobody from the 1990s or 2000s would be considered. Don’t even think about Jeff Kent, not after finishing his career with the Dodgers. Giants fans were resolute and stubborn in their love affair with Bonds. You’d have to court him and align with him, and damn what the fans of the other 29 teams think.

Seattle: pretty easy choice here, Ken Griffey, Jr. and I think he’d be fabulous if he wanted to be involved.

St. Louis: A lot of great Cardinals, but there’s only one currently available that would be ideal to be the face of an ownership group, and that’s Ozzie Smith. It would be a fascinating discussion 10 years from now, once Albert Pujols is retired, how he’s revered by the organization and its fans.

Tampa/St. Petersburg: nobody even remotely worth considering.

Toronto: considering the franchise had a great run in the early 1990s and nothing else before or after, the player has to come from that team. Roberto Alomar is a special assistant for the organization, but sure doesn’t seem to be very high-profile. Perhaps that would change if he was courted. Still, his personality doesn’t scream ownership material. Dave Winfield is a strong candidate and you couldn’t go wrong with him, but he’s part of the Padres front office right now. Instead, I’d select Joe Carter. He’s got that walkoff homer to end the 1993 World Series, spent seven years there, still involved in the organization, and he’ll always be beloved in Toronto.

Agree or disagree with any selections? Leave a comment.

Five Hot Topics

In the latest Out of Ink podcast, Josh Suchon and Matt Hurst discuss the best pitching performances they've ever seen in person, a #8 seed topping a #1 seed, a new website dedicated to Albert Pujols' struggles and much more, including the show's first "Big Prediction."

Time for Wolff, A's to get belligerent

-- by Josh Suchon

Lewis Wolff is a patient man, a calm man, a reasonable man. It’s not in his nature to make a scene or start a fight. But there comes a certain point in your life when you’re mad as hell, and you just can’t take the waiting any longer.

It’s time for Wolff, the managing partner of the Oakland Athletics, to channel his inner Howard Beale.

It’s time for Wolff to walk around the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum – the real name – when it’s quiet and empty, and all you can hear are the ghosts of championships past, and ask himself, “what would Al Davis do?”

You think Al Davis would wait over three years for the Commissioner of his sport to make a ruling on where his team can call home? You think George Steinbrenner would take matters into his own hands? You think Frank McCourt wouldn’t cherish the opportunity to take this situation into court?

When the Athletics and Giants open a three-game series tonight, it will be an astonishing 1,160 days since baseball commissioner Bud Selig appointed a blue-ribbon committee to study the prospect of the A’s moving to San Jose. The A’s are blocked from moving, right now, because the Giants own the territorial rights to that area.

I’ve intentionally used the phrase “blue ribbon” because I’m trying to make Wolff sick, and this is what Wolff said about the blue-ribbon committee in February.

If one more person calls it a blue-ribbon committee, I’m gonna throw up. It’s a committee. It’s not a blue-ribbon committee. The gentlemen on the committee are good guys but they are doing the bidding of the commissioner. Baseball’s gone from a $1 or $2 billion industry under Bud Selig to $7 or $8 billion. He’s a deliberative person. But that deliberation, when you view the balance sheet – he’s done such a fabulous job. We’re following the process. It’s excruciating. But I think we’re getting there. We have ways of being a belligerent owner. It’s just not in me to do that.

What would it take for Wolff to become a belligerent owner? When will it be in him to do that? Another month of waiting? Another baseball season? Another year? Two more years?

Territorial rights serve an important purpose. It prevents a sports team from packing its bags and moving across the street from another team. That’s why the San Diego Padres can’t move across the street from the St. Louis Cardinals, or why the Tampa Bay Rays can’t move across the street from the Boston Red Sox, without 75 percent approval of the sport’s owners.

Problem is, there’s massive inconsistency to how these territorial rights are divided, decided, awarded, transferred, and enforced.

The Bay Area is one of four two-team markets in baseball, along with Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York. The other three do nothave boundaries. The Bay Area does.

As we incredulously learned recently, there’s nothing stopping the Angels from moving from their current home in Anaheim, 31 miles south of Dodger Stadium, to a downtown Los Angeles location that would be four miles from Dodger Stadium.

The point isn’t if the Angels will make this move. The point is, they could. As Bill Shaikin reported:  

The Dodgers could not challenge an Angels move to Los Angeles, at least not in the way the San Francisco Giants are blocking the A’s from moving to San Jose.

The Giants have exclusive territorial rights to San Jose. The Dodgers and Angels share an identical territory, including Los Angeles.

The story of how the A’s and Giants reached this point takes time to tell. Before we get to that, let’s break down each team’s argument with overly simplistic paragraphs.

Bay Area territorial rights map, courtesy of espn.com

THE GIANTS STANCE: hell no, we own the territorial rights to San Jose, we’ve invested heavily into the market, it would hurt our business model, we’re not giving the rights away, and we’re not selling it for any amount of money because it’s impossible to predict the long-term ramifications.

THE A's STANCE: we’ve exhausted all options for a new stadium in Oakland, in Fremont, within our territory, this is our only option to sustain ourselves in the Bay Area, and we’ve moving further away from San Francisco.

The argument the A’s don’t make often enough, or loudly enough: our former owner gave your former owner those territorial rights for free back in 1990.

Full disclosure time: I grew up in the East Bay, was a huge A’s fan, and I’ve written about my childhood at the Coliseum on this blog. I’ve covered each team as a beat reporter for The Oakland Tribune, listened and printed the arguments from both front offices repeatedly. If I owned the Giants, I’d take the exact same hardcore stance. I don’t live in the Bay Area anymore, and honestly don’t care where the A’s end up.

I just want Selig to make a decision.

* * *

Explaining the history of the territorial rights issue can’t be done quickly. This articledoes a pretty good job, and I’ll provide my best attempt at an efficient and fair history lesson.

The Giants arrived in San Francisco in 1958. The Athletics arrived in Oakland in 1968. At that time, the A’s “territory” was designated as Alameda County and Contra Costa County (ie. the East Bay). The Giants territory was San Francisco, San Mateo, Monterey, Santa Cruz and Marin Counties. The teams shared Santa Clara County (ie. the South Bay).

Former Giants owner Bob Lurie

In 1987 and 1989, voters rejected a ballot measure for a new ballpark in downtown San Francisco. Then-Giants owner Bob Lurie decided to look to the South Bay for a new home.

In 1990, then-A’s owner Walter A. Haas, Jr. gave Lurie the exclusive rights to the South Bay to build a new ballpark.

For free. Yes, for free.

No contracts were drawn up. Haas figured it was in the best interest of baseball, and furthermore, the Giants were moving further away from Oakland.

Surely, it wasn't a 100 percent altruistic decision. Haas knew he would gain new fans from San Francisco or the North Bay who didn't want to drive to San Jose, and that it was possible the Giants would move away and he'd have the market all to himself.

Twice more, Lurie was rejected at the ballot box -- in Santa Clara in 1990, and in San Jose in 1992. Lurie gave up in his stadium hunt, and sold the Giants for $115 million to a group led by Vince Naimoli, who would move the team to St. Petersburg, Fla.

However, the other baseball owners blocked that ownership change and move to Florida. They pressured Lurie to sell to local investors. A group was formed, led by Safeway CEO Peter Magowan as the managing partner, and Lurie sold the team for $100 million.

To their undeniable credit, as the Dot Com boom was taking off in the South Bay, the Giants new ownership group aggressively marketed their team to that growing population down south. The A’s were short-sighted in not doing the same.

At that time, in 1993, the territorial rights were a non-issue.

The Raiders were in Los Angeles. The A’s didn’t share the Coliseum with anybody, averaged over 2.6 million fans a year from 1988 to 1992, outdrew the Giants in those five years, reached the playoffs four times, beat the Giants in the ’89 World Series, and actually boasted one of the highest payrolls in baseball. (They were losing money in the process, but that’s another story.)

In 1993, it all started to change. The new Giants ownership group energized the franchise, signed Barry Bonds, improved Candlestick as much as possible, and made another stadium push. The A’s dynasty grew old and crumbled, and couldn’t be replenished by a depleted farm system.

Former A's owner Walter Haas, Jr.

Haas passed away in 1995, and his estate sold the A’s to Ken Hofmann (the silent partner) and Steve Schott (the spokesman). The Raiders returned to Oakland the same year.

The Coliseum was expanded -- or ruined, depending on your perspective -- to accommodate the Raiders return. The A’s started the 1996 season in a Las Vegas minor league ballpark, as their home was changed, and frequently played day games at the same time construction took place on the new outfield seats.

In 1997, the Giants returned to the playoffs. But more important, they finally won on Election Day for a new downtown ballpark. It opened in 2000, the most important development in Giants franchise history, and put the pressure on the A’s to get their own baseball-only park.

Schott went to college at Santa Clara University. His office was in the South Bay. He wanted to move the A’s to his home region. Around 2003, Schott thought Magowan told him something along the lines of, “what would you pay for the rights?”

Magowan denied that was his intent, and quickly reaffirmed the rights weren’t for sale for any price. Selig made several declarations over these years that territorial rights were important to preserve -- his way of saying the A’s can’t move to San Jose, without actually saying, “the A’s can’t move to San Jose.”

The A’s looked elsewhere. They looked at Sacramento, Las Vegas, Portland, the Coliseum parking lot, Jack London Square in Oakland, next to Laney College in Oakland, downtown Oakland, and many more sites. All the plans fell through. (Some maintain the A’s intentionally sabotaged all these efforts because they’ve always wanted San Jose and only San Jose.)

Schott and Hofmann were never in the ownership game for the long haul. The ballpark headache didn’t help. They sold the A’s to John Fisher (the money man) and Lew Wolff (the spokesman) in 2005.

Artist rendering of Cisco Field in Fremont.

Wolff made his name building hotels, and his top priority was a privately-financed new ballpark. In 2006, it appeared he delivered with a plan to build Cisco Field in Fremont, right at the edge of the San Jose territorial rights border, but still in Alameda County. Those plans fell apart too.

Finally, in 2009, Wolff told the commissioner that all ballpark options were exhausted in the A’s territory, and San Jose was the only place left for the A’s in the Bay Area.

Selig needed to make a decision, once and for all, on the territorial rights. His solution? Form a blue-ribbon committee to explore all the options and have them report back to him.

That was over three years ago.

In that time, Magowan retired as managing partner. Bill Neukom, an investor since 1995, took over as managing partner. After three years and the first world title in San Francisco Giants history, Neukom was forced out because the ownership group couldn’t agree on the compensation package Neukom felt he was entitled.

Now the managing partner is Larry Baer, a longtime front office executive since the 1993 group that saved the team from Florida.

The largest shareholder of the ownership group has changed over time, and with the deaths of Harmon Burns and his wife Sue Burns.

No matter the managing partner, no matter the largest shareholder, the Giants message has remained the same: “San Jose is ours. We’re not giving it up.”

* * *

The frustration is growing. People are mad as hell. But right now, they’re still taking it.

Twenty-one months ago, in Sept. 2010, 75 Silicon Valley CEO’s drafted a letter to Selig, urging a timely approval of the move to San Jose. Selig never responded.

Twelve months ago, in May 2011, San Jose mayor Chuck Reed cordially asked the commissioner for a timetable for the answer. Not the actual answer. Just a timetable. Selig never responded.

Ten months ago, in a July 2011 online town hall forum during the all-star break, Selig was asked again about the territorial rights. His answer:

“Well, the latest is, I have a small committee who has really assessed that whole situation, Oakland, San Francisco, and it is complex. You talk about complex situations; they have done a terrific job. I know there are some people who think it’s taken too long and I understand that. I’m willing to accept that. But you make decisions like this; I’ve always said, you’d better be careful. Better to get it done right than to get it done fast. But we’ll make a decision that’s based on logic and reason at the proper time.”

This offseason, as the A’s traded away three more of their talented young pitchers, in yet another rebuilding effort, there was a sense from the front office that a decision was due soon.

The stadium issue wasn’t on the agenda in January at the owners meetings in Phoenix, but it was discussed by the powerful eight-person executive council. Selig even said the issue was “on the front burner.”  

In February, Wolff participated in an informal on-stage conversation at the Rotary Club of San Jose.

Wolff, an old fraternity brother of Selig, expressed his highest level of public outrage:

"I'm not going to continue this (waiting for permission to move) much longer. What we want is an answer. We want a "Yes, you can relocate, share the district, share the territory". Or "You can't." We have a way of demanding a vote (from MLB) but that isn't our nature. So the best thing for us to do in the next couple of months is see where we go. After that, though, I think I have to -- I can't even continue to come to these wonderful lunches, I'd feel like (Bernie) Madoff, or somebody."

Wolff later added:

"The Giants are trying to stonewall it, which is certainly working -- for them. And we're saying 'tell us what we can do.' We think the facts are on our side. We don't want to hurt the Giants, in fact we think the end result will be a great result for everybody, a great new venue here as well as there, and competition for them. So it's just sort of strange, and it's hard to answer the question of why this has gone on so long."

The action heated up in spring training. On March 7, the A’s released a statement about territorial rights. The money quote:

Of the four two-team markets in MLB, only the Giants and A's do not share the exact same geographic boundaries. MLB-recorded minutes clearly indicate that the Giants were granted Santa Clara, subject to relocating to the city of Santa Clara. The granting of Santa Clara to the Giants was by agreement with the A’s late owner Walter Haas, who approved the request without compensation. The Giants were unable to obtain a vote to move and the return of Santa Clara to its original status was not formally accomplished.

We are not seeking a move that seeks to alter or in any manner disturb MLB territorial rights. We simply seek an approval to create a new venue that our organization and MLB fully recognizes is needed to eliminate our dependence on revenue sharing, to offer our fans and players a modern ballpark, to move over 35 miles further away from the Giants' great venue and to establish an exciting competition between the Giants and A's.

Later in the day, the Giants responded with their own statement. The highlight:

The Giants territorial rights were not granted “subject to” moving to Santa Clara County. Indeed, the A’s fail to mention that MLB’s 1990 territorial rights designation has been explicitly re-affirmed by Major League Baseball on four separate occasions. Most significantly in 1994, Major League Baseball conducted a comprehensive review and re-definition of each club’s territories. These designations explicitly provide that the Giants territory includes Santa Clara, San Francisco, San Mateo, Monterey, Santa Cruz and Marin Counties and the A’s territory included Alameda and Contra Costa Counties.

The MLB owners unanimously approved those designated territories and memorialized them in the MLB Constitution. Since then, the MLB Constitution has been re-affirmed by the MLB owners – including by the A’s – on three different occasions (2000, 2005 and 2008), long after the Giants won approval to build AT&T Park. Mr. Wolff and Mr. Fisher agreed to these territorial designations and were fully aware of our territorial rights when they purchased the A’s for just $172 million in 2005.

Many believed with Frank McCourt out as Dodgers owner, Selig would focus all his attention on the territorial rights issue, and make a decision by Opening Day. It didn’t happen.

Around the start of the season, however, Selig showed more sympathy for the A’s plight than any other time in his tenure. He told Tracy Ringolsby of FoxSports.com that he’s “in the middle of trying to fashion some type of an agreement" between the Giants and A's. The most fascinating Selig quote to Ringolsby was this one:

"In 1990 when Bob Lurie wanted to move the Giants to San Jose, Walter Haas, the wonderful owner of the Oakland club, who did things in the best interest of baseball, granted permission. What got lost there is, they didn't feel it was permission in perpetuity. He gave Bob permission to go down there. Unfortunately or fortunately, it never got changed."

In April, the A’s requested their stadium issue get placed on the agenda for the next owners meeting in May. Three-fourths of the owners must approve the A’s move to San Jose.

The item was never placed on the agenda. Selig doesn’t place an item on the agenda until Selig is ready and Selig knows what the votes will be and Selig is happy with those votes.

That owners meeting took place the last two days in New York. Indeed, nothing has changed, as these tweets on Thursday from Fox Sports' Ken Rosenthal indicate:

No meaningful update from Selig on #Athletics’ situation. Still trying to figure it out. Again called it “complex.”

When asked if #Athletics would consider relocation options besides San Jose, Selig said that is a question for A’s owner Wolff to answer.

One more thing: Selig did say that both #Giants and #Athletics made presentations to Executive Committee. But again, no apparent progress.

How will this end, if it ever ends? Longtime San Jose sports columnist Mark Purdy, who has championed baseball in his home city for two decades, puts the decision squarely at the feet of the Giants’ largest shareholder, Charles Johnson.

It all comes down to one fundamental question: How does Johnson, who owns the biggest chunk of the Giants and thus sets the franchise's tone, want to be remembered at the end of his time in baseball?

Johnson, chairman of the Franklin-Templeton financial empire, already is among the 250 richest people in the world according to Forbes Magazine. He has an estimated net worth of $4.5 billion. He could invest his money anywhere. He's in the Giants because he loves the sport.

So. Does Johnson want to be remembered the way Haas is remembered, as a much-beloved baseball altruist who never put his own franchise's needs ahead of what was best for the entire sport? To this day, Haas is a beloved baseball name throughout the Bay Area.

Or does Johnson want to be remembered as an avaricious hardball owner, as someone who had a chance to do what was best for the national pastime -- by trying to ensure two healthy Bay Area franchises -- but instead put pursuit of maximum profit ahead of all else? If the A's leave the Bay Area because of Johnson's intractability, he will not be treated kindly by history -- or by American League fans in Northern California.

It's a great speech and a nice sentiment. I doubt it will make a difference. After two decades, do you really think the Giants will suddenly wake up one day and say, "sorry, our bad, you can have the territory back" or start throwing out nine-digit financial considerations?

If Bud Selig hasn't been able to broker a deal between the Bay Area teams by now, or get 75 percent of the owners to approve the A's move to San Jose, what's going to change by the next owners meeting? Or by next year?

* * *

So, what would you do? How long would you wait if you were the A’s owner? Would you become a belligerent owner, and risk getting the answer you don’t want to hear, just to finally get any answer?

Would you file paperwork in court, say, this Monday morning to challenge baseball’s anti-trust exemption and the Giants territorial claim on San Jose? By rule, baseball teams can’t sue their own sport, but McCourt was poised to try it anyway. McCourt was dangerous to Selig because he didn't care and had nothing to lose. (No rule is preventing the city of San Jose from taking litigation against MLB, so they could do the dirty work for Wolff and Fisher.)

Would you get even crazier and, say, simply start construction Monday morning in San Jose? When the Giants scream bloody murder, you simply respond, “we’ll stop construction once Selig and the other owners make a decision. While we wait, we’re building.”

Would you turn your fans loose on the Commissioner, either blatantly or with social marketing stealth, and wage a subtle grass-roots war to get an answer?

Perhaps the hashtag #MakeADecisionBud starts trending on Twitter every day until a decision gets made. Perhaps “a fan” happens to bring a sign at the Coliseum, listing the days since Selig announced the blue ribbon committee, updates it every game, and the TV cameras show it. Perhaps the office of Selig in Milwaukee gets flooded with simple postcards that have the updated number on it -- and nothing more.

Selig’s mailing address:

777 East Wisconsin Avenue

Suite 3060

Milwaukee, WI 53202

What will it take for A’s fans to take measures into their own hands? How long do you wait and let your beloved team rot away at the Coliseum, while the Commissioner tries to build a consensus behind closed doors, before you’re not going to take it anymore?

It’s not easy being an A’s fan. They’re a loyal and proud bunch, but they’ve been kicked so many times recently, seen so many of their best players traded away and walk away in free agency, it’s easy to stop caring.

Still, their lack of action astonishes me. This is Oakland. This is where the Black Panthers were founded. This is where the Occupy Movement, for better or worse, still keeps demonstrating. The Coliseum is where disappointed Raiders fans staged first-quarter walkouts, back in 1981, when it appeared their beloved team was moving to Los Angeles. Raiders fans practically willed the team back to Oakland by constantly pressuring politicians to make it happen. (The deal was a disaster for the city, and that's another story.)

Stephen Chow photography

The outrage doesn’t seem to be directed at Selig though. Instead, it’s at Wolff and Fisher.

Earlier this month, the Clorox Company, the only Fortune 500 company in Oakland, held a press conference with Oakland mayor Jean Quan asking the owners to keep the team in Oakland or sell the team. Wolff said the team is not for sale.

The problem with organizing A’s fans into action is they’re split into two camps: those who want the A’s to stay in Oakland, and those who want a fresh start in San Jose. It seems the most vocal fans want the team in Oakland, and their issue is with ownership, not the commissioner.

Whatever your dog is in this fight, both types of A’s fans can agree on this: Bud Selig needs to make up his mind. Over three years is more than enough time.

It’s time for Fisher, Wolff, A’s fans, Dodgers fans who hate the Giants, and baseball fans everywhere to insist Selig make a decision. Now.

Even if it’s not in you to get belligerent, the time has come.

It’s time to get belligerent.