Ailene Voisin

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?

While Jim Harbaugh's extreme makeover of the 49ers isn't complete, it's moving along.

Buster Posey can't possibly appreciate what he's doing right now.

Jemile Weeks didn't stick around to hear the details. He knew what was wrong. He wasn't hitting, wasn't getting on base, wasn't keeping the ball on the ground, wasn't a constant irritant on the basepath.

The late-inning dramatics Monday took place in that spectacular ballpark across the bay. Here in the creaky stadium without all the bells and whistles, and without nearly as many fans, the Los Angeles Angels finally ended the A's improbable win streak.

BERKELEY – Clean it, polish it, make it safer. Issue bonds for a $321 million stadium renovation, or about $70 million less than the estimated costs of Sacramento's failed downtown sports and entertainment complex.

The problem with the annual Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame speeches is that they're both too long and too short.

Virginia Beach, huh? Grab a shovel, a good novel, some suncreen. This is only the latest chapter in the simmering Kings arena/relocation drama that will persist into the upcoming season, perhaps into subsequent seasons, and is sure to involve at least another half-dozen or more cities.

Connie Fishbaugh, a local private investigator, is attempting to revive a Sacramento-area fastpitch softball league – Sacto Fastpitch – and is looking for an estimated 20 women to play in a four-team league in September.

Melky Cabrera had it all working. He was averaging .346 and leading the major leagues in hits.

The NBA began its annual unofficial breather following the Closing Ceremony at the London Olympics, but because this has been such an unpredictable and unusually active summer, league types will remain tethered to their cellphones for the duration of the offseason.