E.K. NATION

Michael Tucker did nothing wrong in the Jeff Weaver incident, and in the Eric Gagne incident, he probably had it in the back of his mind that Gagne might go after him. And when the objectionable pitch sailed high, Tucker figured, there was the attempt. Gagne, I'm sure, figured he could throw one high without coming close in an attempt to make it seem like he wasn't actually throwing at Tucker.

That's my take. No punches were thrown, no bats went upside anyone's skull a la Juan Marichal, so in other words, a pretty calm Giants-Dodgers series.

Oh yeah: We won all four games and now have a two-and-a-half game lead on L.A. in the N.L. West. I'd tell Dodger Fan to stick it up his you-know-what, but I don't think the Dodgers, and consequently their fans, are important enough to taunt.

Now, it's off to Oakland. Our hitting and pitching fortunes should continue and we should take at least two of three, starting with tonight's two-hit shutout by Jason Schmidt...(maybe?)

• Edgardo! Nice to see him pitching in finally. A two-run pinch-hit home run in the eighth on Saturday--sounded like a monster. Listening to Jon Miller's call, we heard "(VERY LOUD CRACK OF BAT) Swing, and it's gone!" And then a grand slam to account for all the runs in a 4-0 win over the BoSox yesterday. One-and-a-half games back with the DodgeBalls coming in to town. A great opportunity to miraculously get into first place.

• And Jason Schmidt is a stud. Two one-hitters in one year is almost Nolan Ryan-like. And it's not even the All-Star Break yet.

• Speaking of the All-Star Game, I have a voting idea. To switch it up, let's have the managers, coaches and players, writers and broadcasters or any combo of those groups vote on the starters, excluding players from their own teams. And let's keep the fan vote, but let their vote determine the reserves. In other words, if Barry and Sammy and Junior go 1-2-3 the players' vote, and Barry, Sammy and Junior are the top three in the fan vote, let the fan vote determine the 4th, 5th and possibly 6th outfielders. And if somebody else is in the top three in the fan vote, they'd get to play as well. This way, the players who truly deserve to be in the game will get to start the game, and in the later innings the fan's choices will start to come in and get a chance to be a late-inning hero.

But we would change it up a bit more: If you haven't played at all during the season, you are not eligible to play in the All-Star Game. This would eliminate the possibility that a Nomar Garciaparra could come in and grab the fan vote and get to start the All-Star Game without even having played.

Also, the All-Star Game would not determine who gets home-field advantage in the World Series. It's a good idea in theory but its practicality is null and void.

• Note to the director of the Reds' cable broadcast of Saturday's game: When Ken Griffey Jr. is up going for his 500th home run, make sure the broadcast shows us Griffey at the time the ball is hit, and not his wife. They lingered on his wife for one shot, and we heard the crack of the bat before the director cut back to home plate. An outrageous way to cover a possbily historic moment in baseball. Face it, guys, nobody cares about the wives anyway. If we did, we'd have them be in a league and follow that.

• Matt Starr is still being maligned, so I am still here to back him up. When the harassment stops, so will I. I don't have the powers of Matthew Star, but if I did, I'd force everyone to stop pretending kids are the kings of the world. Kids should have to deal with adults the way adults have to deal with kids. We're all in this together. Right, Matthew?

"Absolutely right, E.K."

A quick note:

return: v. To revert to a former owner.

Matt Stark, the so-called "Ballpark Brute" who's getting the most unfair bad rap I've seen in a long time, has decided to "give back" the ball to the kid he almost knocked over in his attempt to get it.

The kid never had it.

In fact, he never even tried to get it.

But this kid is getting baseballs, he's getting bats, he's getting tickets for his family for numerous Rangers games, I mean what this kid has been presented with is just ri-donk-ulous.

Okay, okay, I get it: Kids deserve everything, adults deserve nothing. That foul ball I got last year at the Portland Beavers game? A couple of friends of mine actually expressed dismay when the usher let go of it and I claimed it. They were actually upset! And I didn't even touch a kid. There weren't any kids around. It was the beer garden, for Chrissakes.

Again: The kid did not go for the ball, and he never had possession of it as a result. He wasn't hurt, and he wasn't crying. The "sad" look on his face that gets shown in slow motion every freaking time this infernal "news" story comes on TV is not actually of him being sad. It's the look of "Hey, what just happened? I'm a kid, I don't know."

Back when I was nine or so, before I had ever gotten a foul ball, a potential souvenir came flying towards me at a Beavers game. The ball bounced around the section for a couple rows, and came to rest on the bench directly in front of me. I leaped forward to grab it, but a guy around 30 years old sitting in that row to the left of me reached and snagged it before I could.

I have a message for that man, wherever he is today:

I'd like the ball back, please.

Also, to the Texas Rangers organization: I'd like my Nolan Ryan autographed ball back, please. To Reggie Sanders: Give me the bat back! To the staff of "Good Morning, America": I'd like you to please return to me the tickets for tomorrow's Rangers game.

While we're getting things "back" we never had in the first place: To the BMW dealership just up the street, I'd like my car back. To the credit agency who sent me a collection notice for $40 recently, hey, I'd like that money back, you jerks.

To the mother of "Little Nicholas" O'Brien: Gimme back my son!

The "Today Show" just started, and in the opening tease they showed "Little Nicholas and the Foul Ball Brute" again. Christ, what is it this time? I'll have to check it out in a little bit.

When is the gift-giving to this kid going to stop?

All that happened was he got nudged into the row of seats in front of him. That's happened to me before and I didn't get shit!

ENOUGH! This kid was not denied a baseball. He did not try to get it. Enough!!

This woman and her kid got on national TV shows to plead their case? ENOUGH already!!!!! You are not victims! And by the way, lady, you smacked him with a notebook or something. What do you have to say to that?

Enough.

About that guy who got the foul ball at the game by diving over the seats in front of him:

The people on TV who have introduced the clip say he took the ball away from a kid. Even the announcer doing the game could be heard saying, "Nice going, he took it away from a little kid. You should be really proud of yourself...There's the biggest jerk in the park."

THIS IS A LIE. I never saw a kid in that clip holding a ball at all. Not the kid in the orange shirt, not any other kid, nobody else. Now, the guy was quite aggressive, and I don't recommend, as he did, flipping yourself over the row of seats and knock a kid almost over. That was what he did wrong. But he did not steal a ball from anyone. Is the guy getting a bad rap? Yes, he is.

And then they have some dolt with a microphone come over later and ask him, whaddya say you give the kid the ball? And the guy says no thanks. Well, who's he going to give it to? He didn't take it away from anyone. The kid wasn't even going for the ball! Well, it didn't matter. Anytime a kid even remotely appears to be wronged, we gotta give him everything we can. Look at Reggie Sanders calling the kid over, giving him a bat. Now Sanders probably didn't know what happened and didn't realize that the kid did not have any ball taken away from him. But still. Give me a break.

My recent post about foul balls included a comment about an usher who grabbed a foul ball at the same time I did and wouldn't let go, and told me to let go, and I thought to myself, if I let go, he's going to give it to a kid. I am so sick of this mentality that kids have to get all the breaks. Sorry, but if I catch a foul ball, I'm not giving it to a kid. I was a kid once and had plenty of foul ball opportunities taken away from me by the quicker, more agile hands of an adult. So screw the kids. I'm taking what could have been mine years ago.

So there.

Nyaah nyaah.

Ha ha, hee-aqua.

1) Why the hell are you taking Jason Schmidt out of a game in which he is pitching a shutout? Is there anybody on the Giants' staff that you would rather have in there? Jason Schmidt after 119 pitches is still better than any Giants pitcher on five days' rest. Stop the bullshit micromanaging and let the horse work it out himself.

2) Anyone else bothered by the fact that Jose Cruz Jr. was presented with his Gold Glove from last year before the game? Against the Giants? A similar scenario would involve inviting George W. Bush to Cannes to watch Michael Moore pick up the Palme d'Or for "Fahrenheit 9/11".

From an AP report:

"A night to remember for me, for sure," said Cruz, who signed with Tampa Bay as a free agent in the offseason. "It's great to beat guys you know and have bragging rights."

Dude, you beat us when you were a Giant. You're the reason we didn't beat the Marlins in the playoffs, and it was all ironically due to your lack of fielding prowess. You should not be taking delight in a Giants' loss. Okay, Jose? Screw you.

It's not often you have a chance to get killed while chasing down a baseball. But I took such a chance last Thursday evening.

Geoff and I get off the MAX train just beyond the centerfield wall at PGE Park. We step onto the sidewalk and we're heading towards the gate around the corner past the left field bleachers. I can see down into the park and the Fresno Grizzlies, the Giants' AAA farm team, is taking batting practice. Somebody's up there hitting, and I think, hey, if this guy hits a home run it could get out into the street here and I could get it.

Seven seconds and two pitches later, BOOM.

Here it comes.

I get that sudden feeling in my gut whenever a baseball comes my way. Oh-ohhhh-ohhhh-ohhhhh!

It looks like it's going to be a foul ball, but still could bounce off the concrete walkway next to the one row of bleacher seats, through the bars on the iron gate and onto the street. So I start moving towards it. And sure enough, it does.

I see it ricochet into the street. By this time I have already reached a full sprinting speed, and I'm trying to negotiate the path the other dude who sees the ball and who's blocking my way. There's a long bike-rack looking piece of metal separating me from the street and I have to run perpendicular to the street to get around it before I can dart into the street. The guy sees me coming and I guess he decided, well, this guy wants it more than I do and I'm certainly not going to get killed, either by a car or by this nutcase sprinting at me, so he abandons his brief prusuit of the ball.

Now, I was ready. I had already looked around and taken note of any cars or MAX trains that could possibly be in my way if I were to dart out into the street. There is no immediate danger, I know this from my survey, so I dart onto 18th Street. And then suddenly there is a car turning the corner towards me. Geoff knows I'm always eager to get a souvenir and he figures I could be in immediate peril, so he starts to shout out, "Dude, don't get killed, look out!" But he winds up saying only, "Dude--" and then I'm sure I heard him mutter, "Whatever will be will be."

The ball hits the curb on the other side of the street, and I look at the car coming at me, and the driver has seen me and has not accelerated, so for now, I am safe. The ball has stopped on the MAX tracks. My peripheral vision and memory of my quick street survey lets me know there is no MAX train coming. I pick up the ball, wave at the driver who stopped, and head back towards Geoff, who is shaking his head in utter disgust. "You coulda died, dude."

I say, "I know."

Then I say,

"But it was a baseball."

You know what I'm talking about right?

A week before, we were sitting in the beer garden down the right field line in the rain, and the Portland Beavers' Rico Washington hits a ball that bounces off the net protecting the spectators from the players--or perhaps, the players from the drunk-asses--and rolled to Omaha Royals' second baseman Rick Short, who tossed the ball just over my head. Geoff tried to catch but it bounced off his hand and landed at my feet, so I got it.

So that makes two souvenirs in the span of a week. On average my wait between baseballs is three or four years. Well, let's see how many I have now...

• Ball #1: A foul ball at PGE Park, which was then known as Civic Stadium, circa 1983. I have no idea who hit. This fact has bothered me for years. Also, I lost it, after playing with it in the yard and getting it all dirty. This fact kills me.

• Ball #2: With the Minnesota Twins in town for a parent/farm-team game in 1988, Brian Harper launches a ball during the home run contest into the left-field stands. Two guys to my right go for it, knock it straight up into the air, and I grab it.

• Ball #3: Tony Perezchica of the Phoenix Firebirds, hits a ball into my empty section in 1990. I need to expend no effort to get it and am never in danger of getting run over by a car, or a person, or anything. Between games of the doubleheader, I go down to the dugout and get him to autograph it.

• Ball #4: Sitting in the center-field bleachers at Dodger Stadium in the summer of 1996, I turn to my friend Nels and say, "Mike Piazza's up. Think he'll hit one this way?" He does indeed, less than a minute later. I get out of my front-row seat and step onto the staircase in front of the bleachers. This ball is a missile, I'm beginning to discover, as speeds towards me like a comet, bounces off my hand, and goes down the stairs. I race after it, and since no one is underneath the stands, I pick it up effortlessly. A girl offers me $20 for it later. I say it's not for sale. I wouldn't have taken a thousand bucks for it. Got my own slow-motion highlight on a teaser on CNN Sports Tonight. Great stuff. Marvin Benard had climbed the wall and was watching me from eight feet away. Best souvenir of my life so far.

• Ball #5: Tommy Whitehurst of the Portland Rockies, the A-level farm team of the Colorado Rockies, brought in after the Portland Beavers are moved to Salt Lake City, knocks one into the stands for me.

• Ball #6: Phil Nevin, playing with the Beavers--who are back in town again--in a rehab stint in 2003, pops one into the beer garden. It bounces off a table and onto a staircase leading up to the stands, where, inconceivably, an usher grabs it with one hand at the precise moment I grab it with two. I am lying on the stairs, and he tells me to calm down. I tell him I am calm, now that I have the ball, and you're an usher, what are you doing? He says dude, if you let go, I will give you the ball. I say, Dude, if you let go, you will have given me the ball, so let's cut out the middle transaction here. Besides, I thought, he's going to give it to some punk kid if I let go. So finally he gives up, and lets go, and I have my baseball. Then he calls out to me telling me I need to change my attitude, and I say, Dude, I'm just going after a foul ball. Everything is fine now. Don't hassle me, please.

• Ball #7: Rico Washington's foul grounder.

• Ball #8: The 18th-Street-MAX-Train Horsehide Orb of Death. My eagle-eye noted, prior to the ball heading my way, that the batter was wearing uniform #7. I checked later. I think it was Brian Dallimore, but major league transcation records have him being sent down to Fresno a day later. Oh well. He's a good player. I'll just say it was him.

So that's eight souvenir baseballs and one near-death in twenty-six years of going to professional baseball games. Not bad.

For just the second time in American major professional sports, a team with a singular nickname has gotten its hands on its league's championship trophy. The Tampa Bay Lightning joins the Colorado Avalanche in achieving the feat, and I will resist all urges to use plural verbs with said singular names ("The Lightning have won it!" just simply does not wash).

We were in Vancouver B.C. for bro's bachelor party weekend and could have been in country for the Stanley Cup's return to the Great White North but T-Bay's overtime goal in Game 6 squelched that opportunity. We might have been able to see cars being turned over and Mounties set on fire even though we were an entire province away. But it was not to be, and the cold, cold country in which I was born will have to watch as the Cup gets a tan on the beaches of Florida.

Now we wait a few months. The NBA doesn't have a tremendous amount of appeal for us here at E.K. Nation, so the next great event will be the baseball playoffs in October. We'll be ready.

Memo to the Tampa Tribune: Next time you prepare two editorials, one in case your team wins and the other in case your team loses, don't print them both the day after your team wins.

I just know you, faithful reader, are anxious to know: How is E.K. coming along with his playing of the 2004 season with the Giants on EA Sports' MVP Baseball 2004? As anxious, I am sure, as you are in waiting for the Olsen twins to become legal.

I shall tell you. First things last: Last night I dropped out of first place, for the time being, when Moises Alou hit a walk-off 3-run homer in the bottom of the 13th to defeat the Giants 5-2. Barry had hit a two-run homer to tie the game at 2-2 with two out in the ninth inning. (Coincidentally, the date of this game on the video game corresponds to the actual Giants game against the Cubs a couple of weeks ago in which the aforementioned Alou indeed went yard to end the ballgame.) So now, I'm in second, a half-game behind the Diamondbacks, and a couple games ahead of the Braves in the wild-card standings.

Alas, some of the Giants who are with us in real life are no longer on the roster in Playstation-2-Land. Fed up with the constant messages from Jeffrey Hammonds in the "MVP Inbox" e-mail service about how unhappy he was with his playing time, I thought, yeah, and I'm unhappy with your ridiculous .148 batting average, Jeffrey. So I shipped him off to Cincinnati for the trusty John Vander Wal, whose actual departure from the Giants a couple years back left me frothing with angst and the G-Men lacking a dependable pinch-hitter. But, our rendezous with V.W. didn't last long. He was immediately shipped, along with Edgardo Alfonzo and Jason Christiansen, to the Angels for Darin Erstad. First-sacker Erstad's arrival signaled the end of J.T. Snow's unproductive video game career with me, and he was dealt to Houston for starter Brandon Duckworth and a minor leaguer. However, the service provided me with a message from Jerome Williams saying the clubhouse is in good shape, led by the happy presence of Ray Durham. And Pedro is now feliz, having been given the third-baseman's starting job for good now. No more platooning with Neifi, who is actually a decent slap hitter in this game, so I've found.

Brett Tomko is 8-0(!) with an ERA below 1.00, and Barry has 18 home runs through May 20. But it is a struggle to get the computer to walk your guys. At three balls, he sort of goes into automatic-strike mode. So Barry has one walk, and his on-base percentage is a mere trifle ahead of his batting average, a clean .333.

Playoff teams so far: Diamondbacks, Cubs, Phillies, Giants (WC), Mariners, Royals, Red Sox, Orioles (WC).

P.S. The Olsen twins aren't getting hotter as they get older. I think they have peaked.