San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
Reminiscing about baseball as sport plans its return
Perhaps the time of the year — spring — played a role when the Sporting Green first asked readers to submit their fondest sports recollections.
A wide range of sports have been represented in the responses, but one has clearly stood out: baseball.
With that in mind, and with a tip of the cap to MLB owners and players for finally agreeing on the terms to restart the game in a month, we’re putting the spotlight on baseball in this, the fifth collection of remembrances.
Entries have been edited in some cases for brevity and clarity. In terms of exact dates and names, factchecking was performed for accuracy.
Brian Johnson’s day
The “Brian Johnson game,” GiantsDodgers in September of 1997. What is indelible in my mind is Rod Beck getting out of a basesloaded, noouts jam in the 10th inning, when Eddie Murray hit into a double play, and of course the “shot heard round the Bay Area.” I can still see Johnson raising his arms like a referee signaling touchdown as the ball went into the leftfield bleachers. I have never heard a roar like that, and I never will again. I’m sure glad you brought back a great memory.
— Ken Greening, Memphis
Cain is perfect
Being a baseball person — Lefty O’Doul was my second cousin — all my memories involve baseball, starting with games at Seals Stadium when I was a kid. I remember my dad took me out of school on April 15, 1958, to “go see Willie Mays,” and that was awesome for a 15yearold. I have seen many, many games over the years and three World Series wins. But my favorite memory occurred on June 13, 2012: Matt Cain’s perfect game. I remember sitting with a friend, looking at the K’s on the rightfield wall and the zeros on the scoreboard, never saying a word, just looking at each other with a sly grin. When it was over with a 10tonothin’ win, we hugged with joy. Making the day even better, my youngest daughter surprised me with a “Hi, dad. A perfecto!” I didn’t know she was at the game. That is a memory I will never forget.
— Tom O’Doul, Rohnert Park
Sixth nono for Nolan
On June 11, 1990, right after my graduation from Cal, a bunch of us piled into two cars and drove to the Oakland Coliseum to watch the A’s against the Rangers. By the time the third inning is over and the A’s have no hits, the crowd is starting to murmur. After four innings, the murmurs are turning to cheers. By the end of the fifth, almost everyone in the stadium is rooting for Ryan. He already had the record for most career nohitters by then, but nobody was expecting him to throw one this late in his career (43 years old at the time). The cheers got louder and louder until the very last out, when the place just exploded. Ryan got mobbed and the crowd stood and cheered for many minutes. It was the best game I ever saw in person and we all walked out exhilarated, clutching our ticket stubs and talking about how we could tell our grandchildren that we were there.
(Editor’s note: Eleven months later, Ryan would throw another nohitter — against the Blue Jays — the seventh, and last, of his career.)
— Michael Bell, Carmel Valley
Jason Giambi goes deep
The 2001 Oakland A’s had a very solid roster and were exciting to watch. On Aug. 12, they played the hated Yankees on a sunny, soldout Sunday afternoon at the thennamed Network Associates Coliseum. It was a tight game throughout. With the score tied with two outs in the bottom of the ninth and Johnny Damon on base after a walk, Jason Giambi came to the plate. After fighting off a few pitches and running the count to 32, Giambi launched a majestic home run over the rightfield wall for the walkoff. The crowd went nuts for 10 minutes, and the frosting on the cake was that this was also Giambi’s 1,000th career hit.
(Editor’s note: This was the A’s 11th straight win, the last in that streak.)
— Johnny Sorensen, Newark
Loma Prieta at Candlestick
You guys have done a great job describing the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, so I’ll just add a few details. I’d never really understood why people described an oncoming tornado as sounding like “a very nearby freight train,” probably because I’d never been in a tornado. But I get it now. That thundering I heard was the quake rumbling up the peninsula from its Santa Cruz epicenter. Like trying to describe the first time you heard a Formula One car at speed, it’s a sound you can’t characterize but will never forget. Our seats were just seven rows off the field, and I couldn’t believe the severe manner in which the upper deck was twisting. How could concrete contort that much without exploding into dust? Afterward, you could have heard a pin drop as people looked around as one, terrified at the prospect of what we expected to see. But all we saw was thousands of people looking back at us. Shortly afterward, a fan held up a sign that said something like, “You think that was big? Wait until the Giants bat!” Let us lift our glasses in a toast to the Old Grey Lady. We’ll miss ya, sweetheart.
— Guy Atkinson, Hayward
Meeting a legend
Both of my parents were heavily involved in the civil rights movement in the 1950s, and my father, as an editorial cartoonist for the Oakland Tribune, was going to be honored by the NAACP for a series of his national political cartoons. As a 12yearold, I had about a dozen really good reasons I would not like to sit in the Oakland Civic Auditorium, listening to at least a dozen boring speeches. But I had grown up as a sports memorabilia junkie, and when they told me the keynote speaker was to be Jackie Robinson, my ears perked up: “Do you think I could meet him and get his autograph?” There were no guarantees, but my parents said they would call Franklin Williams, the West Coast president of the NAACP who lived nearby and was organizing the event. As it turned out, Williams called to ask if I wanted to come over to his house to meet Robinson! As I entered the living room, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was really him. He was a little grayer than I had pictured him and a little heavier than I had expected, but it was definitely him. He was very mildmannered, and I remember his firm handshake. His World Series belt buckle shone brightly under the living room light that hung just over his head, like a halo! I remember listening to Jackie talking about how ballplayers needed to be more conscious of the communities they played in, and how they needed to give back. He talked about how disappointed he was with the players who opened liquor stores in the poor communities and fed people’s bad habits and how morally and ethically wrong this was. At the end of the night, I mustered up all my courage and asked Jackie if he would mind signing my sports gear. He was a special human being with a Gandhilike power to fight for what was right without cursing, threatening or raising a fist or weapon … just plain oldfashioned class. “To Billy, with best wishes, Jackie Robinson.”
— Bill Grant, Monterey
Farewell to Ted Williams
In September of 1960, I was just starting my senior year at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, but two friends and I had something more important in mind than attending the first day of classes — we just had to see Ted Williams play his final game at Fenway Park. Only about 10,000 fans showed up, but they were well rewarded. In his last atbat, Williams hit a towering home run to right field. As he was rounding the bases, one of my friends raced down the aisle and took a picture just as Williams touched home plate — a picture any photo journalist would be proud of, and I still have a copy. At the end of the inning, Williams went out to his position but was immediately taken out of the game, and he received a standing ovation as he jogged off the field. True to form, he did not tip his cap. As it turned out, that was the final appearance for perhaps the greatest hitter of all time. The Red Sox played three more games at Yankee Stadium, but they were meaningless and Williams rode the bench both days.
— Peter Hanauer, Berkeley
Koufax KOs the Yankees
It was a beautiful, chillintheair autumn afternoon at Yankee Stadium in New York, and I was sitting in the outfield bleachers for Game 1 of the 1963 World Series (back when World Series games were played under the sun). The Dodgers, who had broken my Brooklynborn heart (in 1958) by moving to L.A., were back for their first World Series against their archrival Yankees since 1956. The Dodgers’ pitcher for the opener that day was Sandy Koufax, one of my alltime favorite ballplayers. I was an island unto myself in my outfield perch, surrounded by loyal Yankees fans. Koufax not only pitched a completegame gem, but struck out 15 Yankees in the process (at that time a World Series record). This was Koufax, one of the greatest pitchers of all time, at the top of his game. Seven years later, I relocated from New York to California and settled in the Bay Area, adopting the Giants as my new team.
— Lloyd Davis, El Cerrito