On the eve of the McCovey Holy Season...

I'm lighting a candle and praying for Benitez tonight, whether it's to continue his outrageous luck or his outrageous command of the voodoo that helped him collect outs like they were bottle caps this spring.

Count me as one who has not been in this guy's corner, despite the late returns. After sucking it up and repeatedly trying to defend Armando for two seasons, I just gave up the effort by August of last year. Too much evidence stacked up against him, and I jettisoned my optimism and allegiance. I couldn't take it no mo'.

I send my respects to youse guys who still can.

But I will make this concession: As much as a fit Bonds, the Giants desperately need a strong Benitez performance to stay in the race. And because I love local laundry to the last stitch, I cannot actively root against the galoot. He's wearing my favorite colors, fer crissakes, even if sometimes it looks more like two uniforms than one.

I'll cheer for Benitez in a roundabout fashion, because much more than Armando is at stake. At the top of my Giants Wish Heap, I desire that the Giants stay in contention so Barry's comeback season -- in which he passes Aaron with ease -- will have the utmost dramatic meaning.

But...Benitez. I sense that on April 3 the stone reality sets in for Benitez because of the tough, professional, break-your-heart major league hitters who are stacked against a closer in the ninth inning of games THAT COUNT.

Man, that inning -- that final, desperate ninth -- is a tough assignment to pitch through. And it is one facet of regular season baseball that just does not have a true parallel in the sleepy Cactus games. I can't trust the results from Scottsdale, boys.

So I am taking a deep breath, lighting the taper, and intoning:

Go, Blow!