As the Prodigal Chum Returns, the Stiff Winds to Right Call His Name

In the movies, Jason always returns in that same old hockey mask.

This week, Jason Giambi comes back in that same old A's uniform, though three sizes larger than last time.

It's the uniform he should have always worn.

In some alternative universe -- the one where Lindsay Lohan is a man -- Giambi never signed with us, never boarded the roller coaster, never caught the Japanese/Kevin Brown "parasite," never juiced, never became a dead pull hitter, never hit .230, never saw a whole season disappear like the silverware at a GOP prayer breakfast.

But I have a bottle opener with John Sterling Tarzaning a walk-off grand slam, and it's the night Giambi made his Yankee bones following a brutal start. I think of the Giambino every time I crack a beer.

You had to love Giambi. He seemed the type whose heart matched his shoulders. Generally, we're better off not knowing Yanks up close. But Giambi seemed an exception. He was a lousy liar. He was loyal. If we needed someone to play the title role in "Horton Hears a Who," it would have been Giambi.

But he came as all-fields hitter. He left as a guy who watched shortstops perched in right-center, with the whole left side of the infield wide open -- enough space to bunt .400. Yet he couldn't take advantage of it.

He left as a guy -- too many lately -- without a ring.

I hope we cheer him loudly. And when we feel those wind currents blowing to right, while Hideki Matsui hobbles, we might wonder the wisdom of letting him walk.

And he's probably thinking about some alternative universe -- the one where Lindsay Lohan is a plumber -- where he just finished in Oakland and is just now starting in New York.

Good grief, they designed the perfect stadium for him... and he's gone.