RealClearSports: Bay Area Full of Dysfunction

By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com

SAN FRANCISCO -- That the San Francisco 49ers are telling us they could play in Oakland, while the Oakland Athletics are more than hinting they want to play in San Jose, might not make sense to people back in the rust belt. Yet it's perfectly logical to us demented folk along the Pacific.

Read the full story here.

© RealClearSports 2009

RealClearSports: No Forgetting the Earthquake World Series

By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com

SAN FRANCISCO -- Twenty years ago, Oct. 17, 1989. 5:04 p.m. PDT, Athletics vs. Giants, Game 3 of the Bay Bridge World Series, a festive time that in an instant would become a tragic one.

"I didn't really feel the quake at first,'' Bob Welch said a while ago. He was in the visiting clubhouse, getting liniment rubbed on his shoulder. He was five minutes from walking to the bullpen to warm up, to prepare for his start.

"I thought they were rolling barrels on the ramps above the clubhouse.''

On the other side, Dusty Baker, the Giants' batting coach at the time, didn't have any doubts. He knew it was an earthquake.

Up in the second deck at Candlestick Park, where the overflow media had been seated, an area of temporary desks, the so-called auxiliary press box, I also knew.

What no one knew was how severe it would be. How it would knock down freeways, dissect the World Series.

Twenty years ago. I still have the memories. I still have a copy of the column I wrote for the San Francisco Examiner a couple of days after the quake. Not the night of the quake, because there was no power in the city.

The Examiner and Chronicle, a joint-operating effort, couldn't print. The Oakland Tribune could. The San Jose Mercury could, but not the papers in the city where the tragedy occurred.

Rob Matwick is an exec with the Texas Rangers now. Twenty years ago he was public relations director for the Houston Astros, assigned as many of his colleagues to work the Series. He was adjacent to me when it sounded as if a fright train were running through the park.

"What's that?'' he asked. As Dusty, I'm a native Californian. "An earthquake,'' I answered. I'd spent all my life in the state, south and north. I know earthquakes.

"But,'' I wrote 20 years ago, "I've never known one like this before. Candlestick swayed like a ship on a stormy sea. The quake lasted maybe 15 seconds that seemed like an hour.

"And then it was over, and some 60,000 cheered. They were Californians. They were Giants fans. They were survivors. Surely this was a sign from nature: No harm, no foul. ‘Play ball, play ball,' they began to chant.''

The teams couldn't play. No power. No lights. No idea of what was happening.

Norm Sherry, the Giants pitching coach, was telling those on the field, "The Bay Bridge is down.'' I had one of those little battery-powered TV sets. The bridge was standing, but a section of the upper deck had dropped onto the lower deck.

In effect, the bottom had dropped out of the World Series.

"After it stopped,'' said Welch, who now lives in Arizona, "I still thought I was going to pitch. Actually, I thought about (Oct. 1) 1987, when my last start for the Dodgers, there was a 5.9 quake in L.A. that rolled me out of bed.''

This one, the Loma Prieta Quake, named for the fault some 65 miles southwest of San Francisco, was first called at 6.9 on the Richter scale, where the rating is logarithmic and not merely one step above the next.

Then it was revised to 7.1, the worst earthquake in Northern California since the infamous one of 1906, which along with a subsequent fire destroyed most of San Francisco.

There was a fire in the '89 quake too, centralized in the Marina District, and because of low pressure, water had to be pumped from the bay. A couple of days after the quake, Joe DiMaggio was in line with Marina residents to check on property owned by his family.

That first night was science-fiction eerie. All of San Francisco was pitch-black. No lights, no elevators, no television. The next afternoon, baseball commissioner Fay Vincent spoke to the media in a ballroom at the St. Francis Hotel lit only by candelabra, as in the 18th Century.

From Candlestick to candelabra in a matter of hours.

Dozens were killed by the quake, many under a collapsed freeway in Oakland, never to be rebuilt. Damage was in the billions.

Candlestick, windy, much-reviled Candlestick, built on a solid ground, held up except for broken hunks of cement here and there.

The A's, who had taken the first two games in Oakland, decided to dress at their park and bus across the bay, maybe 23 miles from stadium to stadium. Wives and families had come in their own transportation.

Mark McGwire helped his then-girlfriend from the stands. As the A's Stan Javier, years later to play for the Giants, helped his wife, Vera. Oakland's Terry Steinbach embraced his wife, Mary. The Giants' Kelly Downs, in a photo that would be on the cover of Sports Illustrated, carried a young relative to safety.

Jose Canseco would be seen gassing up his Porsche some place down the Peninsula from Candlestick. Who knew if the San Mateo Bridge, the next one south of the Bay Bridge were open -- it wasn't at first -- or even the Dumbarton Bridge?

Some wanted the World Series stopped right there. Vincent, alluding to Winston Churchill insisting the cinemas in London be kept open during blitz to create a sense of normalcy, intended to continue.

Ten days after the quake, with a group of rescue workers, police and firemen tossing out ceremonial first pitches, baseball was back. But not for long. The A's won two more and swept the Series.

Twenty years ago, a time of joy and grief.

As a reporter since 1960, Art Spander is a living treasure of sports history. A recipient of the Dick McCann Memorial Award -- given for his long and distinguished career covering professional football -- he has earned himself a spot in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He was recently honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award by the PGA of America for 2009.

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http://www1.realclearsports.com/articles/2009/10/16/no_forgetting_the_earthquake_world_series_96505.html
© RealClearSports 2009 

SF Examiner: The day the Battle of the Bay was rocked

By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

It began with more sound than fury, a rumbling as if every fan at Candlestick Park was stomping their feet. Up in the second deck, where tables had been knocked together to serve as an auxiliary press box, the man alongside choked out a question.

“What’s that?” asked Rob Matwick, now an executive with the Texas Rangers.

Twenty years ago, he was the public relations director for the Houston Astros. He had never experienced what he was about to experience. Neither had anyone.

“An earthquake,” I answered flippantly.

Then as the grandstand vibrated and the noise exploded, Matwick, panicky, gasped, “Is it a bad one?” Soberly, I responded, “Yeah, it’s bad.”

We know the date: Oct. 17, 1989. We know the time: 5:04 p.m. We know the setting: Game 3 of the World Series between the Giants and A’s. We know the result, dozens killed, billions of dollars in damage, a Richter reading of 6.9.

Candlestick, nicknamed the “The ninth blunder of the world,” by the late, great Herb Caen, was a terrible place for baseball. “Blow it up,” was one man’s slogan. But when that quake hit, loathed, belittled Candlestick held firm. As do the memories across two decades.

When the quake stopped, the chanting started, “Play ball, play ball.” But they could not play. Power was out in The City. They would not play. The A’s and Giants were scattering from the clubhouses onto the diamond, looking into the stands for loved ones.

The first two games of what was nicknamed the Bay Bridge Series had been won, easily, by the A’s in Oakland. Someone had hung a bed sheet sign from the upper deck at Candlestick before Game 3: “I am the Giant. I will be heard.”

What we heard was a giant of another sort. One that tumbled freeways and severed a section of the Bay Bridge. One that had journalists wondering whether the 86th World Series should be resumed, which it was 10 days later.

The A’s had dressed at the Coliseum and traveled to San Francisco by bus. The quake created chaos. There was a famous photo of Jose Canseco in his uniform, pumping gas somewhere down the Peninsula, the car having been driven over by his wife at the time.

That first night San Francisco was dark, without any lights. Hotel elevators didn’t run. Visiting sportswriters hiked up pitch-black stairwells. The day after the quake, a candlelit press conference with baseball commissioner Fay Vincent was held at the St. Francis Hotel on Powell Street.

A few days later, Joe DiMaggio appeared in the rubble of the Marina district, waiting in line with others, to check on a residence owned by his family.

Baseball resumed Friday, Oct. 27. Ceremonial pitches were thrown by 12 public servants and rescue workers, one of whom, Steve Whipple, had seen Buck Helm alive in the wreckage of the Nimitz Freeway.

We sang, “San Francisco open your Golden Gate.” Someone held a sign, “Most Valuable Park, Candlestick, No Crumble Under Pressure.”

The Series was back, if not for long. The A’s swept. They were champions. It almost didn’t matter. We were survivors. Which did matter.

Art Spander has been covering Bay Area sports since 1965 and also writes on www.artspander.com and www.realclearsports.com. E-mail him at typoes@aol.com.

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http://www.sfexaminer.com/sports/Spander-The-day-the-Battle-of-the-Bay-was-rocked-64186587.html
Copyright 2009 SF Newspaper Company

SF Examiner: A’s, Giants headed in opposite directions

By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SAN FRANCISCO — The funny thing as one considers the progress of the local baseball nines, is that back in April, the belief was if either team could produce a winning record it would be the A’s. Goes to show what we know.

Maybe the Giants are not the surprise team in the major leagues, but they at least draw a few upraised hands when somebody asks for a vote.

And west of Citi Field, is there any franchise a bigger bust than the A’s?

The trades the last few days, one apiece, were a reflection of what the folks in charge think of their franchises. Oakland is always getting rid of somebody. In this case it was Matt Holliday. Conversely, the Giants are looking for help, not merely a way out.

Ryan Garko isn’t Ryan Howard, but seemingly he isn’t Travis Ishikawa, and Giants management believes the team will be better off with Garko, which we were told back in grade school was the whole idea of making a trade. Unless you were the A’s of recent vintage. Yes, Matt Holliday was brought in to be sent out. Was there any doubt?

Then again, when the A’s introduced Holliday and Jason Giambi at a media session last winter and then a few weeks later in Arizona brought in Nomar Garciaparra and Orlando Cabrera, there was a misguided thought Oakland would be less than embarrassing. Goes to show what we know.

There is no attempt here to make anyone believe Holliday is Mark McGwire, but the last time the A’s sent a power hitter to the St. Louis Cardinals it was the red-haired kid who would hit 70 home runs in a season. Sort of makes one wary.

When taunted about the Holliday trade, an A’s spokesman pointed out something about Oakland getting a potentially great young third baseman, Brett Wallace ... meaning he’ll eventually be sent to the Diamondbacks?

This is not to berate the continually berated and continually maneuvering Billy Beane — guilty, your honor — but when does the gerbil-cage wheel stop turning? Is Oakland ever going to hold onto what it has? Ever?

Long ago and far away, the A’s were champions. But so were the Raiders and 49ers. That bit of gloating, “No splash hits, four World Series,” is now irrelevant. No, the Giants haven’t won a World Series the 50–plus years they’ve been in San Francisco, but they’re trying.

The season ended weeks ago for the A’s. In Oakland, it’s always tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes. You can’t tell whether they’re at the beginning or the end or who will be showing up next February for introductions.

Over at AT&T Park, there’s a palpable satisfaction, although being miles back of the dreaded Dodgers is proof the Giants are in need of more than Garko.

San Francisco, we’re advised, has talent a year or two away from the bigs — Buster Posey, Angel Villalona, Madison Bumgarner — and yet we kept hearing thoughts like that about the A’s system. And Oakland is hopeless once more.

You can’t be certain, but the Giants seemingly have a future. All the A’s have is a past, and a potentially great third baseman.

Art Spander has been covering Bay Area sports since 1965 and also writes on www.artspander.com and www.realclearsports.com. E-mail him at typoes@aol.com.

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http://www.sfexaminer.com/sports/Spander-As-Giants-headed-in-opposite-directions-51963587.html
Copyright 2009 SF Newspaper Company

Twenty years later, Giants of ’89 recall the Earthquake Series

SAN FRANCISCO -- It was great to come back. Ol’ Humm-Baby said it. And everybody else thought it. Great to come back, to memories both sweet and painful.

Twenty years it had been since Roger Craig, Humm-Baby, managed the Giants to a pennant. Since Kevin Mitchell won that National League MVP. Since the Loma Prieta earthquake tore into the World Series and left us, the Bay Area, reeling and damaged and baseball in limbo.

The Athletics and the Giants on Friday night at AT&T. As on Tuesday evening, October 17, 1989 at Candlestick Park. The third game of the World Series. A region was enthralled with itself.

So much excitement. So much attention. And then, in a matter of seconds, a 6.9 earthquake, a section of the Bay Bridge pulling free, the Cypress Freeway down in Oakland, dozens of fatalities and attention for a reason that moments earlier seemed unimaginable.

It was great to come back. The ’89 Giants, at least a large number of them from owner Bob Lurie to general manager Al Rosen to Craig to players such as Mitchell and Will Clark and Rick Reuschel, had returned for a reunion.

There was needling. There was laughter. There was pensive recollection of the disaster that transformed what major league baseball labeled the Battle of the Bay but locally was known as the Bay Bridge Series into what forever will be known as the Earthquake Series.

A few minutes after 5 p.m., a few minutes before Game 3 of the Series was to start, the A’s having won the first two games in Oakland.

“Jeff Brantley and I were running down the tunnel to the dugout,’’ remembered pitcher Mike LaCoss, “when the lights started flickering.’’ LaCoss, who would have started Game 4, is a Californian, from the Central Valley. He knew what was happening.

“I told Brantley, ‘It’s an earthquake. Keep running,’ ’’ LaCoss said.

I also knew what was happening. After a time. I was in the upper deck of the ’Stick, in the auxiliary press box, a section where jerry-built tables had been installed to accommodate a media horde too large for the normal facility.

It sounded as if a freight train were running down the concourse. And felt like it too. Rob Matwick, then the public relations director for the Houston Astros and one of the many people working the Series, was in the next seat.

“What is it?’’ he shouted. “An earthquake,’’ I yelled. “Is it bad?’’ The shaking seemed endless, although later it was timed at 15 seconds. “Yeah,’’ I gasped.

Atlee Hammaker was in the clubhouse with fellow pitchers Dave Dravecky, who also is here for the reunion, and Bob Knepper. “When it hit,’’ Hammaker, now a father of five who lives with his family in Nashville, said Friday, “I wondered, ‘What’s that?’ Knepper knew. He said to get outside. We ran to the player parking lot, and the ground was rippling like a carpet. Then we went to our families.’’

There are photos of A’s and Giants on the field with wives and children. Candlestick had withstood the temblor, albeit with a few cracks in the cement, but the safest place in a quake of course is away from any structure. So that’s where players and their entourage were evacuated, whether the action normally would be.

Kevin Mitchell was already in the outfield, talking to the A’s Tony Phillips. “I didn’t know what was going on,’’ Mitchell recalled. “When they told us it was an earthquake, I was looking for my grandparents, but at first I couldn’t find them.’’

Mitchell is back in San Diego, where he grew up. The MVP plaque hangs on a wall at his home. “Everything is fine,’’ he said, that familiar gold tooth gleaming when he smiled. “Baseball was good, but life goes on.’’

The Earthquake Series did not go on. It came to a halt, for 10 days while the Bay Area recovered and mourned and tried to find its priorities.

Art Agnos, San Francisco mayor at the time, wanted a month delay, but baseball commissioner Fay Vincent insisted on a resumption as soon as possible, which wasn’t that soon at all.

Games 3 and 4 weren’t much different than Games 1 and 2. The A’s won both and a World Series was swept for the first time in 13 years. Giants fans contended the quake affected the outcome. Craig, now a hearty 79, and splitting time between residences in the desert town of Borrego Springs and San Diego, disagrees.

“You can’t blame it on the earthquake,’’ said Craig, “The A’s had the better ball club.’’

That they did, proving it in a World Series that will live in infamy.