We're not sold on Shinjo the way our hype-mongering local dailies seem to be -- we'll wait and see if he's the miracle worker everybody says he is. But we know we're glad that Shawn Estes isn't around anymore. Not that we hated the guy or anything; by all reports he seemed nice enough, and we loved to watch him during the Giants' 1997 season when he won 19 games. But for reasons only God, Estes, and his therapist completely understand, the magic wore off. Suddenly major-league pitching's biggest head case, he was seemingly trying to throw a no-hitter each time out, and a single base runner unleashed an army of neuroses; self-doubt kicked in, the curveballs started hanging, horrific meltdowns featuring three-run homers ensued, and after a while you got really tired of watching the sweat stream through the guy's stubble. Baseball being the strange game it is, we might regret Estes' departure, especially now that the Giants' starting rotation is a disheartening collection of injury and inexperience. Still, we're glad he's in New York. Good thing Mets fans are forgiving sorts who aren't quick to heckle players, eh?