San Francisco Chronicle

Deep thoughts, cheap shots & bon mots ...

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Ryder Cup captain Jim Furyk has named three vice captains, including Tiger Woods. You know who else could us a good vice captain? The 49ers.

Dear 49ers, feel free to clip and paste the following into a press release: “Reuben Foster will neither practice with nor play for the 49ers until his legal issues have been resolved to our satisfacti­on.”

Watching the Winter Olympics caused one reader to realize that President Trump wasn’t spouting nonsense when he made those seemingly bizarre comments about immigratio­n. Bill Wertzberge­r says, “More immigrants from Norway is bound to help the U.S. medal tally.”

Rites of Spring Dept.: The Oakland A’s have issued their annual promise that they’ll have a new ballpark plan locked down solid by the end of the year. Whew.

There may have been concern in the Warriors’ offices and among fans that Stephen Curry and the boys would wind up with egg on their face after rejecting a White House visit, if subsequent events made them look like overreacto­rs. Not a problem.

So we arm our schoolteac­hers. Great, as long as the killers promise to stick to schools. If not, how will the gun plan work at other potential terrorism sites, like concerts, mosques and ballparks? Do we issue Glocks to ushers and batboys?

With the Warriors so often accused of being lackadaisi­cal, let’s pause for this reminder: It’s not laxadaisic­al, unless you’re referring to nonchalant employees at Los Angeles Internatio­nal Airport.

I still can’t picture Madison Bumgarner doing yoga. Unless maybe it’s some version of hot-barn yoga.

Want to speed up baseball? The batter gets his personal music played on the ballpark PA system only if he gets on base.

Those annoying paleontolo­gists are on my butt, so let’s set the record straight. Klay Thompson would not have taken his dog Rocco to the La Brea Tar Pits for a dinosaur bone, as I wrote. Dinosaurs were Jurassic Period. The Tar Pits burble up remains from the Late Pleistocen­e. Look, I’m still writing “1973” on my checks.

If I’m a big-league hitter and I want to mess up the timing of the pitcher, I stay in the box after every pitch, bat up, ready, staring at the pitcher. Eventually he will freak out and drill me. He’ll be out of the game and I’ll be on base.

After a Russian curler flunked his drug test at the Olympics, a Russian official said U.S. security people “put something” in the water of the curler or tampered with his urine sample. Look, Russia: You tampered in our election and threatened our democracy, we spiked your curler’s Gatorade. Let’s call it even.

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