Ailene Voisin

This is a guy who mentions bar fights. His bar fights. So, really, there is nothing Jim Harbaugh does or says that should surprise.

There is a gracious exit strategy here, a way for the Maloofs to pay off their debts, walk away with their heads held high and move toward their next venture infused by positive karma and a powerful sense of accomplishment.

On a crisp, clear Saturday night in Candlestick Park, in the first postseason game of his NFL career, young Colin Kaepernick put the finishing touches on any 49ers quarterback controversy. This was the end of the debate and perhaps the beginning of an era, maybe even time to start asking a few questions.

Frank Gore isn't very sexy, though we don't mean sexy in the conventional sense. We're talking Twitter, TV, blogs, postgame sound bites, crowds around his locker and demands for his time.

If ever there was a time for a financial white knight to make an appearance, bathed in the purple and black splendor of the region's only major professional sports franchise, this is it.

Tyreke Evans counts the number of guards on the Kings roster. He hears the persistent trade rumors. He remembers that his bosses refused to extend his contract last fall.

Despite her best efforts and intentions, Hannah Storm won't be resuming her SportsCenter anchoring duties today at ESPN headquarters in Bristol, Conn.

Understandably, Kings fans harbor a serious grudge against the Lakers, who stole Game 6 from the Kings, choked them in Game 7 and deprived them of a trip to the 2002 NBA Finals, but, hey, I think congratulations are in order.

The conversation these days is about his hands and his route running, not his attitude or his rookie contract dispute or his assorted injuries and absences. And that's a change.

Now that he's back, what do you do with DeMarcus Cousins? Coddle him? Ignore him? Trade him?

On the treadmill, on the sideline, in the locker room, Keith Smart sweats profusely. He sweats the small stuff and the big stuff. He sweats about his young center's destructive behavior, the Kings' erratic performances and a collective body language that suggests his 12 players work for 12 different corporations.

DeMarcus Cousins deserved this. Of course he deserved this. Enough already.

The Aaron Brooks who played Wednesday night against the Warriors? That was him. That was the veteran point guard the Kings signed last summer following his one-year adventure in China.

UC Davis athletic director Terry Tumey interviewed almost a dozen candidates, inquired about the interest of several others, and then went with his gut, with the guy right down the street.

Colin Kaepernick is handling the attention with all the poise and escapability of a seasoned veteran – basically, by saying little and revealing even less – while showing off his fleet feet and impressive powers of recovery.

Jimmer Fredette will be a player in this league, OK? In an era when the dribble-drive is the tendency du jour, and at a time when the extra pass would be the holiday gift Kings coach Keith Smart couldn't wait to unwrap, the second-year guard is offering hints of what the fuss at BYU was all about.

So what's wrong with DeMarcus Cousins anyway? His game, not his attitude. What happened to his game?

Joe and Gavin Maloof have no idea how to save this marriage. Maybe it's because they've never walked down the aisle, never stepped to the altar, but whatever the reason, they're clearly stuck in the mud.

Colin Kaepernick over Alex Smith? This is unconventional, daring, potentially brilliant, potentially devastating, and so predictably Jim Harbaugh.

The Looker. The Watcher. There are certainly worse things to be called.

The Kings' front office types probably don't want to talk about this today. Nah. I'm sure they don't. NBA egos are immensely proportioned, particularly when a surprising, energetic, uplifting performance wakes up the crowd a few hours earlier at Sleep Train Arena.

If the Maloofs are remotely interested in sustaining the Kings in Sacramento, tabling the new arena vs. renovated arena conversations at least for a few more days/months/years, they need to issue one sure, swift, franchise-shaking statement.

The rain arrived late in the fourth quarter, slipping off his narrow shoulders, dripping over the front of his baseball cap, soaking into his shoes.

We always knew Bob Biggs was smart. We just didn't know he was this smart.

DeMarcus Cousins was dead wrong. His behavior was inappropriate and inexcusable, so let's start with that.

The outcome was about as satisfying as kissing a frog, smooching a sibling, planting a big, wet one on the neighbor's newborn.

Thomas Robinson says he feels worse than Jonas Jerebko, the Detroit Pistons forward he elbowed in the throat Wednesday night, and, well, he should. Cheap shots aren't cheap.

The next man up is Greg Monroe. He's tall and slender, talented and improving, and during the Detroit Pistons' last visit to the pavilion now known as Sleep Train Arena, he dominated his 2010 NBA draft classmate DeMarcus Cousins.

For a while there, it looked like the sky was falling. Black, plastic tarps kept dropping from the rafters. The Kings suffered one of their familiar scoring droughts, the Warriors kept creeping closer, and the fourth quarter became a showcase for strange calls and shaky nerves.

The Kings have problems. Of course they do. They can't score, they don't rebound, they make poor decisions. They are winless and offensively clueless as they entertain the Golden State Warriors tonight in the official christening of Sleep Train Arena.

One of these days, one of these years, one of these decades, it will happen. The Sacramento State Hornets will make the big plays, avoid the brutal turnovers and stun the opposition.

For a number of reasons, this is a season the Kings can delight and awaken their audience.

Where would the Giants be without Gregor Blanco? Seriously? If Blanco wasn't around to pick up the pieces, dive for all those sinking line drives and lay down that one crazy bunt after his good friend Melky Cabrera was tagged with that 50-game suspension?

Talk about October surprises. Ah, never mind. Talk about life.

Where has Hunter Pence been all these years? What was he doing in Houston and Philadelphia, and before that growing up in Texas, when he was born to be a Giant?

If the Giants prolong the postseason that could have died a couple of times now, defeating the St. Louis Cardinals tonight and earning a chance to throw one past the Detroit Tigers, the chatter about their starting pitching will be never-ending.

James Johnson thrusts out his hands and points to his feet, then flashes an easy grin. He has all the tools, he insists.

The 49ers have plenty of digging to do, because they were whipped in almost every facet of the game.

The A's walked off the field for a final time Thursday night to the chants and cheers of another sellout crowd, to a curtain call from their fans and even a tip of the cap from the Detroit Tigers.

Of course. Of course this happened. How could such a marvelous, magical, maybe even mythical season have ended with a baserunning blunder?

For a huge chunk of his relatively young major league career, Brett Anderson has been a walking, talking bruise brother. Elbow inflammation. Tommy John surgery. A strained oblique muscle that kept him in the dugout while the A's swept their way into the postseason.

What the Giants are asking of Ryan Vogelsong is almost unfair. They need him to be pitch perfect. They need him to provide a once-in-a-lifetime performance. They need him to remember where he's been and where he is now, and do so without succumbing to intimidating, potentially overwhelming circumstances.

If you want to catch a debate this week, one that is infinitely more entertaining than some verbal jousting about the economy, climate control or our nation's failing infrastructure, skip the political stuff and jump right to the Giants and the A's.

Billy Beane probably better start worrying about that "Moneyball" sequel. What his A's accomplished these past few months, weeks, days, hours?

Keith Smart finally feels like a head coach. Not an interim head coach auditioning for one of the NBA's 30 jobs, or worse, a lame-duck head coach waiting for the new owners to cut him loose.

Recent seasons have not been kind to the Raiders. But Sunday afternoon, in what rookie coach Dennis Allen hopes is a warm-and-fuzzy beginning, they enjoyed a rare, memorable, near-perfect finale.

Mike Alberghini is a mess. His voice is hoarse from a lingering cold. His bright blue eyes are red-rimmed from fatigue and emotion. He needs a shave, needs a pat on the back, needs a diversion, needs a hug.

Being part of the 49ers' offense these days is a little like the Johnsons trying to keep up with the wealthier Joneses. Everyone wants a bigger house, a larger flat-screen television, a second or third family car. For Alex Smith, Vernon Davis, Frank Gore and especially Michael Crabtree, one of the more coveted items is an intangible one: collective star status.

SANTA CLARA – This would have been highly improbable a year ago, or two years ago, and certainly in the weeks and months following his selection as the NFL's No. 1 draft choice in 2005.

So what did you do during your summer vacation?