Brian Murphy

For five months now, we sports fans have dealt with life in the pandemic. What we’re dealing with includes cardboard cutouts, Gabe Kapler in a mask, and now an autumn without the Cal marching band in Strawberry Canyon. That’s pretty weird stuff.

He’s not here for your logic or well-reasoned explanations.

And all of us getting to know Kapler, a man hired nearly ten months ago, a man yet to manage a game for the beloved Gigantes, and a dude already morphing through different iterations as a fan base watches.

You would think he would know about the danger of shark-infested waters.

And now for something completely different: optimism?

I have two words about these Puig-to-the-Giants rumblings.

The designated hitter in the National League. Pass the vomit bag.

Or, as I like to call them: Three Fountains of Hope. Or, the Trilogy of Belief. Or, the Trinity of Optimism.

And now we are all grappling with ghosts of America’s Original Sin: slavery, and the systemic racism that has taken root in our culture ever since.

As an old sportswriter, I keep a keen eye on my ink-stained colleagues. I still love to read them. When the Murphy family hard-copy newspaper hits our driveway every morning, it’s the sound of loyalty.