Give 'em Some Stankeye!

1) Dread. The Giants are heading into Petco Park for a weekend set? Buy a box of hankies. No matter how bad the Padres suck, the Giants always roll into Petco Park and get manhandled like Jim Cramer on The Daily Show. Along with Coors Field, this is the most dreaded place in the NL West, but instead of 5-hour, 16-15 marathons that mock everything that baseball is, you're treated to 1-0 losses with 430-foot bombs that land safely into the right fielder's glove.

2) Hope. Well, maybe this year will be different. The Giants are playing good baseball, they're off to a hot start, and their offense has been rolling on all cylinders. I mean, a ballpark can't have ownage on a team forever, right? Right?

3) Rage. It's the sixth inning. Kevin Correia has given up one hit and has thrown 50 pitches. The Padres have mustered just two singles and yet have somehow scored four runs. As Bengie Molina hits a first-pitch chopper to the deep shortstop hole and gets thrown out by 50 feet, you feel that blood vessel in your temple getting dangerously close to exploding. The Giants get two runners on but some unknown sidearmer strikes Mark Derosa out on three straight sliders off the plate to end the threat. The urge to wage war on the neighborhood with a board and rusty nail continues to rise.

4) Depression. The game rattles on into the late innings. The bottom of the order is up against the Padre closer, but you don't care. You sank into the loving grasp of your tenth bottle of Newcastle long ago and now Heath Bell looks like some strange, amorphous blob hucking foreign objects at stick men. What's this? In the midst of the drunken stupor, you realize that Juan Uribe has just tied the game with a home run. It doesn't matter. The Giants are doomed. Time for number eleven...

5) Devastation. Scott Hairston has just ended the game with a long, extra inning home run. Again.

I missed all of Tuesday's 1-0 loss because I was out with friends. I was spared most of Wednesday's loss because I was at work. For these reasons, and these reasons only, I am still sane enough to type stuff on a keyboard semi-coherently.

Tim Lincecum's long hair is Jesus-length at this point. Maybe he can act as the savior from the brutal four-game losing streak the Giants just suffered through. If he descends from the sky bathed in white light and flanked by seraphs at each side, so much the better.

--There's a Hole In My Heart, As Deep As a Wellemeyer...

All right, let's just get this out of the way. Todd Wellemeyer sucks. Every Giants fan in the world was willing to put their better judgement aside in hopes that Wellemeyer would grab the fifth starter job by the barrel and reign fiery hell upon with NL hitters. As Rod Stewart's "Reason To Believe" was played repeatedly on iPods in Giants fans' living rooms everywhere, Wellemeyer's pitching history was subsequently ignored and his poor stuff was glossed over.

Well, after three starts of batting practice, Wellemeyer is in full blown Tomko territory. The guy was marketed as a control pitcher, but he's walked 11 batters in 14 innings. He's got nothing on his pitches. Watching him throw is like watching Ryan Sadowski's grizzled older brother. The Giants really expect this guy to stop the Phillies this weekend? Give me a break.

--As you well know, Pablo Sandoval is just one awesome dude. This, however, raises his coolness level to epic heights. How did Giants fans luck out so much to be graced with this guy and Tim Lincecum at virtually the same time?