Like hell it's not on Counsel. He's the captain of this ship, and he let the Titanic continue to drift towards the iceberg, and didn't get off his arse to turn the wheel until we were two inches from it. Knebel has been God awful of late. The leash he's on should be the length of a chihuahua. At the first sign of trouble, you get somebody else up in the pen. I don't buy into this "Padres are hot and confident" BS. They're the worst team in baseball for a reason, and we were facing the bottom of their lineup-at home, no less. Knebel walks the #7 guy, I'm already holding the phone to the pen. Knebel throws a few balls to the next batter, I'm putting the call in, calling time, and stalling to get the pen guy warmed up. Not a chance in hell that I'm allowing Knebel to see another batter after he walks two guys. The umpire can tongue lash me, kick me out of the game, write an impassioned letter to the league why I should be fined. I don't give a damn. I'd have Front Row Amy do jumping jacks for a few seconds-whatever it took to make sure that the head case on the mound doesn't throw another pitch. And after the third walk, there's not a little league coach, let alone another MLB manager, that would have let Knebel face a fourth batter. Knebel threw the pitches, but Counsel should have been watching him with the world's biggest magnifying glass. The buck has to stop somewhere, and Counsell has shown time and time again that he has no clue about when to act. Meet the new Brewers, same as the old Brewers. The late season swoon is underway. They'll choke down the stretch, just like they always do on the rare occasion when they have a decent squad. And, we'll blow sunshine up each other's butts about how bright the future is, because that's all fans of loser franchises have. Losers whine about doing their best. Winners go home and boink the Prom Queen.