SF Examiner: Zito anxious to reclaim top role

By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SCOTTSDALE, ARIZ. — The Z Man. That’s the label. At least the most positive one. Barry Zito has been called a lot of things the last three years, many of them unpleasant, which is the nature of failed expectations.

But in this, his fourth season with the Giants, who knows what to expect from Zito?

Read the full story here.

Copyright 2010 SF Newspaper Company

SF Examiner: Giants win this round against NY

By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SAN FRANCISCO — It’s usually the Giants or A’s who are left standing with their mouths open and checkbooks closed. Especially when a team from New York is involved.

That’s why re-signing Bengie Molina was of itself a small triumph. The guy can barely hobble down to first base. We know that.

Read the full story here.

Copyright 2010 SF Newspaper Company

SF Examiner: New year doesn't bring much hope for Bay Area sports

By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SAN FRANCISCO — This is a happy new year? The 49ers reveling because they didn’t lose more games than they won. The Raiders groping because they did lose more games than they won. The Warriors making us wish it were baseball season. The Giants and A’s making us wonder why we should wish it were baseball season.

Read the full story here.

Copyright 2010 SF Newspaper Company

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