Managing the 2011 San Francisco Giants might be the most impossible job in the world. What do you do when only two guys on your roster have even a shred of a clue at the plate? How can you build a productive offense around a see-the-ball-hit-the-ball, rolly-polly thirdbagger and a preppy-lookin' dude with Zito socks and a penchant for taking it back up the middle? What do you say to a pitcher who throws eight innings of two-run ball against one of the league's best offenses and takes the loss? Who do you go to for advice when you're ready to pull out every hair left on your head because the middle of your lineup just went down in order on 7 pitches in a one-run game?
These are the questions I ponder as I study the face of Bruce Bochy — the chiseled jaw of a former Navy brat, the fine lines around his eyes, the squinting gaze of a guy who's seen his fair share of bus rides and red-eye flights in a sport where chance plays just as much of a role in the difference between victory and defeat as talent and ability. I really pity the guy when he's up at the podium in the postgame pressers, groping for cliches to cover for his bottomless frustration with what has to be one of the most pathetic offenses ever to lead a division in August.
