I know Mr. Mara would be so happy for me, and happy that I was representing the Giants. I don't want to let him down. And I don't want to disrespect the people who cared so much to want me in there.

Until recently, I believed all horses were alike. They’ve been giant, four-footed animals with ugly dispositions and alarmingly large teeth for so long that it’s a bit startling to notice how different they are from each other. Mara’s mare, for instance, is a chestnut bay except for a wide white blaze down her nose that makes her seem perpetually surprised. My huge plodding mount is a dark brown near to blackcreature, with the most unruly mane I’ve ever seen. Her shaggy forelock covers her right eye and reaches almost to her mouth.
Mara’s mare head-butts her in the chest. Grinning, Mara plants a kiss between her wide, dumb eyes, then murmurs something.
“Have you named her?” I ask.
“Yes! Her name is Jasmine.”
I grimace. “But jasmine is such a sweet, pretty flower.”
Mara laughs. “Have you named yours?”
“Her name is Horse.”
She rolls her eyes. “If you want to get along with your mount you have to learn each others’ languages. That means starting with a good name.”
“All right.” I pretend to consider. “What about Imbecile? Or Poops A Lot?

I'm sure he's not happy with the way he left the Giants.

All along, I've conceded the Hall of Fame would be a nice honor, but it doesn't make me. It's not going to change me and it doesn't add or take away anything from my life.

These guys are the best advertisement we could have. Each of them was the case of a coach resurrecting a franchise that had fallen onto hard times. You would think that there would be some owners and general managers out there who would want to take a much deeper look and step outside the box.

My mom used to say, 'Give me my flowers while I can smell them,' and I got the same feeling when I found out how those players felt. It was as if they gave me my flowers.