This is particularly so here in the United States. In many European cities, someone will grow or catch something to eat through patience and planning, then spend the better part of an afternoon — after a three-hour, midday nap — lovingly crafting a family-style meal that’s enjoyed by an actual entire family (or three) over a few hours and some carefully selected vino.
Here, we’re more than OK with scarfing down — in our car, by ourselves and in less than 10 minutes — 10 McNuggets that were poured from an ice-crusted, plastic-lined cardboard box into a vat of nasty, cracklin’ oil by a teenager whose face has a similarly constituted oil of its own. Washed down with a vat of something with a few bubbles and a ton of sugar.
It’s even worse in sports. World-class soccer — sorry, futbol — might be an exception, but outside the U.S., a team is a fan’s family, and imperfections are tolerated or minimized with the modest expectation that things will eventually get better.
Here, Warriors coach Mark Jackson banishes a young assistant coach whose name sounds a lot like “Scrubini” (fittingly so, it should be noted), and all of a sudden the sky is falling. The notion of team discord, disturbingly unsubstantiated by anything more authoritative than a respected national sportswriter with a cellphone full of anonymous sources and an army of Twitter followers, takes center stage.
Never mind that Jackson’s team, three years ago a league-wide joke, is playing its best ball of the year over the past several weeks and is a legitimate threat to rip off a couple rounds of playoff success.
ScrubiniGate is legit! We’ve got a problem here, man. What the eff are we gonna do? Who does this brash New Yorker think he is, anyway? Should we just can him now?
Same deal with Colin Kaepernick and his contract situation. Never mind he already has a contract and can be franchise tagged next year. We’re all busy debating what he’s worth, and whether his feelings will be hurt if the stud pass rusher who apparently set a world record for quickest resolution of an addiction issue gets paid more or sooner than our man Kap.
It’s embarrassing. The Warriors are a blast. The Niners are, too. And they will be for a while. Why not discuss and appreciate that? Nope. We’ve got a bunch of little burrs in our saddle, preventing us from enjoying what should be a glorious ride.
And did you hear Marco Scutaro isn’t going to be starting on Opening Day? Yep. True story. And tragic as all hell, if you believe all the blather about it.
Who’s gonna hit second? Who’s gonna PLAY second? Who’s the jackass who signed that fossil to a multiyear deal while nursing a World Series hangover, anyway?!?
Better questions: Who cares? Who cares? and Who cares? But for the record, the answer to that third question of the previous paragraph is this: Brian Sabean, who played a far more important role in winning two World Series trophies than Scutaro did in winning one.
Yoenis Cespedes had a commode-worthy Cactus League, by the way. Put a fork in him, right?
Wrong. But you’re close. Fork rhymes with cork, and that’s what we all need to put in our McNuggets hole whenever the urge to jerk knees over a recent but entirely possibly eventually irrelevant development.
The Giants are going to be fun to watch this year. So are the A’s. Isn’t that what really matters right now?
Not here, apparently. A wholly unproven Raiders quarterback wants to be traded, dammit.
Mychael Urban, a longtime Bay Area-based sportswriter and broadcaster, is the host of “Inside the Bigs,” which airs every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon on KGMZ “The Game” (95.7 FM).