Every fifth day, I usually find myself saying, "D*mn it Zito, that's it, we're through." But, like an abused dog, I just keep coming back for another swift kick in the ribs.

It's not that Zito is a bad guy.

By all accounts, he seems like a very nice person who happened to be born with a wicked curve ball and a crazy dad.

At one point, he was seemingly the left-handed Greg Maddux, keeping hitters off-balance with a mixture of speeds and pinpoint accuracy.

Hell, he went 23-5 with a 2.75 ERA in 2002, when the A's went on to win the AL West.

He pitched well after that season, typically pitching at least 200 innings and coming in with a sub-four ERA.

But, it didn't take an experienced general manager to realize that Zito's skills had diminished and that he was no longer the ace of the staff as he had been during that magical 2002 season in Oakland.

His fastball couldn't break one of the Olsen twins’ ribs four years ago.

Now, I fear that it won't even reach the mound if a strong wind is blowing.

After last night's debacle, where Zito managed to give up seven runs on 10 hits in just three 2/3 innings, I finally hit my breaking point.

The Giants are hanging tough in the National League without any semblance of a true threat at the plate. They are getting unreal efforts from Matt Cain and Tim Lincecum on almost every start, and their bullpen has been acceptable.

But, every fifth day, our poor man's Jack Johnson heads out to the bump to get shellacked. Maybe his hair products are weighing him down, or maybe his conscience is eating at him for stealing the Giants' money.

It could even be as unbelievable as Alyssa Milano's character from Charmed, casting a spell on Barry after they broke up.

If he were hurt like Jason Schmidt or Carl Pavano after they signed huge contracts, I would still be upset, but at least there would be a reason for his failures.

Barry Zito is just bad.

Plain and simple.

In his two plus seasons with the Giants, he is a combined 24-37 with a 4.81 ERA.

That's not exactly sterling.

Compare that with Matt Cain, who is 24-31, not great, but is rocking a 3.48 ERA.

Obviously, the Giants' offense has wreaked havoc over the last three years with Cain's winning percentage. He is giving up almost a run and a half a game less than Zito over that time period.

Add, in fact, Zito has rarely made it out of the fifth inning over that span and his $126 million contract is a soul crushing blow.

The thing that really grinds my gears is that the Giants are on the hook for this guy for another four years, and, at the end of the worst free agent signing in baseball history, could get railed with a player option for $18 million in 2014 that would include a $7 million buyout.

Vomit.

He is currently making six times more than last year's CY Young award winner, Tim Lincecum and potential CY Young award winner this year in Matt Cain, combined.

COMBINED!

Four more years of a guy who can't throw hard enough to hurt himself.

Four more years of a guy costing the Giants a legitimate shot at a big time bat.

Four more years of a guy smiling while stealing, just like Bernie Madoff.

Four more years of me wanting to jump off the Bay Bridge every time Zito hangs a curveball.

In a direct way, fans always pay for management's mistakes both financially and emotionally. I really like the direction the Giants are headed except every fifth day when they make a U-turn.

If Barry Zito had any pride or a conscience, he would restructure his deal. It HAS to be humiliating taking the mound as the 10th highest paid player in baseball when you aren't even the 10th best player on your team.

Of course, the Giants are to blame for offering a contract that was so ludicrous that people were even balking at it the day it happened.

Unfortunately, there is no end in sight and Zito seems unfazed by his lack of success.

I hope my heart can take it.

There is no question that LeBron James displayed poor sportsmanship when he chose to walk off the court after Cleveland's Game Six collapse against the Orlando Magic. He chose not to shake anyone's hand and he ducked the press.

And you know what? I dig it.

There was a time before guys shared the same agent, repped the same gear, and went to the same social mixers. There was a time when guys didn't pound knuckles and bear hug one another just before tip-off.

If you don't believe me, check out this video of Robert Parish assaulting Bill Laimbeer like he just stole his last bag of weed. Nobody touches the Chief's green.

Parish was fined $7,500 and received a one-game suspension. One game! The intensity and anger that fueled the NBA in the 80s and 90s provided viewers with the drama that they craved.

Had that happened today, ESPN would have literally exploded. The entire campus in Bristol would have spontaneously combusted. Only those who made it to their highest horse would have been saved. Stuart Scott would have boo-ya'd his head right off his shoulders.

For the first time that I can remember, somebody other than Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett actually showed they truly want to win. The media seems to believe that their canned quotes and partial access matters to real fans, when all we really want is the truth.

And LeBron spoke the truth, whether his corporate sponsors wanted him to or not.

As consumers, people are far more advanced than they have ever been. We easily detect falsehoods and insincerity. With the advent of reality television, YouTube, and the blogosphere, people seem to crave a real connection to who and what they are watching.

Being force fed generic NBA propaganda just won't cut it. LeBron gave us a glimpse into who he is, and the NBA is better for it.

Quick; name the funniest moment of the playoffs? Answer; Raefer Alston slapping Eddie House. The slow motion replay of Eddie's headband jiggling around still cracks me up.

It was absolutely, 100 percent the wrong thing to do. Yet, it added drama and showed us he really cared. It was immature and awesome all at the same time.

It gives me hope. It makes me believe that the NBA can overcome David Stern's attempt at creating a league where players are forced to skip when introduced and play with a smile permanently etched on their faces.

I don't necessarily want to see someone get face-jacked like Laimbeer, but I do want bad blood. Michael Jordan was made of Teflon and was viewed poetically by millions of admirers. To teammates, he was a terror, breaking down anyone not tough enough to endure his razor-sharp wit and crazed competitiveness.

His destruction of teammates was legendary. Maybe it wasn't the correct thing to do, but it made him fascinating, it made him a winner, and it helped set the stage for the Pistons to get swept out of the Playoffs in 1991 and refuse to shake Jordan's hand.

That's memorable.

Other than Jeff Van Gundy clutching Alonzo Mourning's leg like someone tied to a power pole during a hurricane, I have a hard time remembering a lot of great, overly competitive playoff moments in the last decade.

LeBron James just killed himself for six games. He put up numbers that are tough to match on NBA 2K9. His team killed him. If he wasn't upset, I would be worried.

Of course, Team Stern will do everything in its power to deter James from ever doing anything like this again, but if LeBron is the savior the NBA proclaims him to be, then this story is just beginning and the King is about to hold court.

Poor Laimbeer.