Hypnosis and Lawyering

Ask Bruce Bochy if he has a dip and San Francisco’s skipper offers up a standard response: “I don’t do that anymore.”

Bullpen catcher Bill Hayes answers the same way. Equipment manager Mike Murphy, too.

They’ve reached this point because of hypnotherapist AlVera Paxson, who is developing quite the reputation for helping the reigning World Series champion Giants kick some nasty, decades-old habits.

Bochy hasn’t touched chewing tobacco since April 14, the night before seeing Paxson during his team’s first road trip to Arizona. Hayes has gone without since Jan. 26. It’s two years down for Murphy. No carrying around those little tobacco cans for these three any longer.

Bochy had his doubts when Hayes told him in spring training this year that he had stopped dipping at last following one thorough session with Paxson, a medical hypnotherapist.- Via the AP

"Can this hypnotherapist work on hitters?", I ask the Colonel. "Specifically the Giants hitters?"

"The hypnotherapist isn't a miracle worker, Keith," says the Colonel which elicits a laugh from both Boz and the Bandit.

That cold realization hit me this weekend. The Giants don't have the hitting this year to repeat as champions. Not even a hypnotherapist can help them.

Sure a lot of things could happen in the playoffs. The pitching could be lights out. The defense could not make any mistakes. The hitters could get clutch hits. That was the Giants recipe from last year. This year's Giants team though is vastly different from last years.


Buster Posey and Freddy Sanchez are done for the year. Aubrey Huff, Andres Torres, and Pat Burrell are shells of themselves. Juan Uribe and Edgar Renteria are departed. The Giants have had way too much turnover from a team last year that had great chemistry. From a team when one hitter made an out, the next guy in line had his back. They just don't have that this year.

The playoffs are the biggest crap-shoot. The Giants could be lucky or good, but I doubt it this year. 

Another Monday has gone by and another Monday spent at the Mos Eisley Cantina. The Bandit has joined the Colonel and I at the bar. We're all sipping on Blue Moon specialties and reminiscing about our days. I was tremendously busy between meetings and work. The Colonel is working on an important case for his firm. And the Bandit had a lot of deliveries today.

"These are the type of Monday's I hate," says the Bandit. "Busy the entire day without the opportunity to stop and eat something. I'm getting too old for these kind of days."

"I know what you mean," I say. "It's always a prelude to the week. Usually if Monday's are busy, then the entire week will be busy."

"I'm also screwed," says the Colonel with a despondent look in his face. "This might be the only night I'll be able to come in here this week. I'm busy with an important case this week with a very rich client. I'm pretty sure I have to take him out to dinner tomorrow night in Sacramento."

"Oof," I say. "Will there at least be a nice commission out of this?"

"I believe so," says the Colonel. "The problem is that I just don't like this guy very much. He's the kind of guy I feel uncomfortable with representing."

"Do you feel like his doesn't have a case?" asks the Bandit.

"No. No," says the Colonel. "The guy is just a jerk. He has a good case, but he's a scumbag."

"Ah," I say. "One of those type of cases where you can't lose but you don't feel well when you win."

"Exactly," says the Colonel who grabs his coat and says goodbye to everyone in the bar.

The Bandit departs as well so I decide to take off as well. Thank goodness I'm not a lawyer. Just another night at the Mos Eisley Cantina.