The Giants lost again, I shudder to share the details, but I cannot gloss over just how bad they looked, they lost again, and I’m afraid they’ve lost four games in a row, which is less than ideal

A three-legged stool can’t wobble by definition. It can fall over if one of the legs is too short, but it’s not going to wobble. As such, it’s become a popular metaphor in business circles. Here’s one with a bunch of buzzwords. Here’s another one with ... look, they all have buzzwords. You get the idea.

The Giants have a three-legged stool of suck. And it ensures that they’ll never win another game for as long as you’re alive. One of the legs is a lousy rotation. One of the legs is a lousy lineup. One of the legs is a lousy bullpen. There are games where two or three of them are terrible and the Giants lose by 11. Those games are easy to figure out.

Then there are the games when two of the three legs are okay. The Giants scored five runs. Their starting pitcher threw five mostly uneventful innings. But you can always count on the third leg to guarantee the suck. Which means this is a bad metaphor unless you want to wobble. A reverse stool?

Look, I don’t know, the point is that even when the Giants almost look competent in some facets of the game, they can always count on something screwing up. Oh, and there’s defense. And baserunning. So it’s one of those wheeled five-legged stools. Also, there’s gum stuck underneath. And hair in the gum. I would start over, but this game doesn’t deserve it.

Also, you’re chewing the gum with the hair in it and spinning around on the stool saying, “Wheeeeeeee!” because this is the live you’ve chosen.

In this particular game, the Giants lost because they can’t have anything go right this season, and that extends to their left-handed relievers. They have two -- two! — hard-throwing left-handers in the system who look like they should dominate. They throw in the mid-90s. They can snap off outstanding breaking balls. If the Giants got one of them to round into form this season, I’d consider that portion of the bullpen to be a success.

Instead, the Giants get nothing. Osich walked two guys and gave up a hit. He might be a dominant major-league reliever one day. It’s clicked for lesser arms. But his time is not now, and it’s hard to watch. The worst part is that Steven Okert was even worse, so he isn’t even on the 25-man roster.

After Osich, George Kontos came in and threw a 92-mph cutter right here:

That is a very bad place to throw a 92-mph cutter.

The Giants, I’m guessing, spent most of the last month figuring out how the rest of the league saw their relievers. Kontos is still on the team, so either they a) didn’t get an offer they liked, or b) didn’t get an offer. I’m willing to bet on the latter.

So now the Giants have an idea of what the rest of the world thinks about their relievers. Mostly, they don’t. Not until it’s time to score against them.

It wasn’t that long ago that we were promised a change:

I was very much on board for Crick coming into the game instead of Kontos. Except when he did get into the game, he looked wild both inside and outside of the strike zone. So don’t take this as a “BOCHY IS DUMB” screed. Crick is imperfect, and it’s worth remembering that a year ago, he seemed broken. Baby steps.

At this point, though, I’m pretty sure I know what Kontos is going to offer. Some sweet sliders and cutters. One awful slider or cutter mixed in. By law. I’m not saying he doesn’t have spot on one of the 30 major league bullpens in baseball — the career 125 ERA+ suggests that he’s doing at least something right — but I don’t need to live and die with his outings anymore. I’ve seen the upside. I’ve seen the downside.

I’m more in the mood for mysteries. So give me Crick in the higher-leverage situations just because it’s fresh. I’ll take the mystery box at this point. I’ll take the ceiling I don’t know versus the ceiling I do.

Mostly, I’m just looking for a reason to be half-interested in these stupid games. Who’s with me?

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As long as we’re in petition mode, I’d like to officially move that the floor recognize my amendment to never, ever, ever try a two-strike hit-and-run with Brandon Belt at the plate again. Maybe, maaaaaybe, if the Giants have Jarrod Dyson next year. But with Joe Panik on the bases and Belt up, you know there are only a few different outcomes, and most of them involve an umpire making a crappy call on a ball that Belt should have taken.

Ah, ol’ number 8. An obvious ball. I’d yell about Belt needing to call his own strike zone, but I don’t have the energy. Just don’t send the runner. We’ve seen it before, and it’s not pretty.

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I have a new Bochy face for you. It looks like this.

This is all of us. We’ve seen Bruce Bochy smile at the end of a very long postseason, and it was like our soul was smiling at the same time. We’ve also seen this Bochy face. We’re seeing them a lot more these days.

While making this GIF, I tried to save it as “Bochy-face.gif.” I was alerted that I already had one of those. So I tried to save it as “Bochy-face2.gif.” I was alerted that I already had one of those, too. Which means I’m obligated to compare and contrast this Bochy face with previous Bochy faces.

Here’s Bochy-face.gif:

Turns out that Bochy-face2.gif was kind of a dud, and I’m not sure what I was going for.

Ah, but this made me find Bochy-gum.gif, and that’s a classic:

But the best re-discovery was Emo-bochy.GIF

Say, look at that background. We’ve been here before, friends. We’ve been here before.