RealClearSports: For Dodgers, McCourts, It's Going to Get Ugly

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By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com


In the latest development of "This Ain't No Fantasy League, Folks,'' the guy who currently owns the Los Angeles Dodgers -- and we must wait to see how long that will continue -- has fired the team's chief executive officer. Who happens to be his wife. His estranged wife.

This following Steve Phillips, former major league GM, recent baseball analyst and oft-time Don Juan, being forced to take a leave of absence by ESPN for reasons that had nothing to do with the hit-or-take sign.

We know the real world is out there, but how about allowing us a few unspoiled moments when we don't have to worry about troubles other than a pitcher losing his stuff?

In SoCal, from the very start of the Dodgers' League Championship Series against the Phillies, the issue seemed to be about Frank McCourt not so much losing his spouse, the self-assured and quite well-heeled Jamie, but about losing his team. To his spouse.

So as that melodrama unfolded -- he's going to have to sell, as John Moores in San Diego; no, she's going to give up her 50 percent -- along comes Phillips to take the headlines. He had what was called "a fling,'' and that didn't mean hurling a baseball.

Parallel worlds. Phillips' wife apparently is filing for divorce for his dangerous liaisons. Meanwhile, with the McCourts the word "divorce'' has not been spoken, only speculated.

Up in Northern California, where hatred of the Dodgers is more noticeable than love of the Giants -- yes, jealousy -- the citizenry is viewing the McCourts' problems as pure Hollywood. And also with pure delight.

Even Giants fans are respectful of the tradition of marriage and wish no ill will to either McCourt. But if their union does fail, there's the possibility the Dodgers also may fail. After all, the Pads went from a champion to a disaster when the assets were divided, as required by law.

It was interesting that McCourt announced the removal of his wife of 30 years from her post the day after the Dodgers had been removed from the playoffs by the Phillies. Presumably he thought everyone in L.A. either would be in such a funk they wouldn't notice a little hanky panky in the front office.

One person who did notice, of course, was Jamie McCourt. Another was her attorney, Dennis Wasser, who gave the normal legal response in such situations, to wit: "Jamie is disappointed and saddened by her termination. As co-owner of the Dodgers, she will address this and all other issues in the courtroom.''

All other issues? What would they be, whether Steve Phillips will stop huddling with girls half his age?

Frank McCourt's attorney, Marshall Grossman, played barrister-ignorant on whether his client had canned the mother of their four children from the post she'd held since March.

"The Dodgers' policy is not to comment on personal issues,'' said Marshall Grossman, Frank McCourt's guy. Then they stand alone in the mess, since everyone else is commenting, gossiping and guessing.

What happens to the Dodgers? What happens to Joe Torre? Normally, owners fire managers, not chief executives.

Is Jamie McCourt, who teaches at UCLA's business school and has degrees from Georgetown, the Sorbonne and University of Maryland School of Law, really lining up investors to buy out her hubby?

Does Steve Phillips wish he had a woman as sharp as Jamie figuring out a way to save his career?

When McCourt vs. McCourt gets to a court, it could make Judge Judy blush.

Grossman contends that "Frank McCourt is the owner of the team.'' Wasser contends, "If the ownership issue must be adjudicated, the Dodgers will be determined to be community property, owned 50 percent by each of the McCourts.''

OK, Jamie, which half of Manny Ramirez do you want?

Major League Baseball lists Frank McCourt as the Dodgers' "control person,'' but according to Bill Shaikin of the Los Angeles Times a "high-ranking baseball source'' said the couple presented themselves together for the approval of commissioner Bud Selig when they bought the team in 2004.

"I think,'' agreed the source, "it's going to be pretty ugly.''

It already has been. Baseball doesn't need this, doesn't need the embarrassment of Steve Phillips, not during the post-season, not any time.

You think those people in the right field pavilion at Dodger Stadium are the least bit concerned with Jamie and Frank McCourt's domestic relationship? They've got their own problems.

They turn to the Dodgers, to baseball, to any sport, for a few hours of entertainment. Of course, in L.A., marriage on the rocks is part of the entertainment.

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.

RealClearSports: Say Goodbye to the Freeway Series

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By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com


Does this mean there's not going to be a Freeway World Series? Think of all the gas they'll save in Southern California. The kind that goes in the fuel tank, not the type C.C. Sabathia was throwing.

No entertainment personalities. No inside info on the breakup of Jamie and Frank's marriage. No Tommy Lasorda anecdotes. No confusion whether they're the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, the Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles or Charlie's Angels.

The Yankees are supposed to be that good, aren't they? A-Rod has the largest contract in history. Sabathia got enough to bail out Wall Street. He certainly bailed out a team that last year didn't even get to the playoffs. Mark Teixeira is earning $20 mil a season, or thereabouts. Then there are Derek Jeter, Johnny Damon, and a cast of thousands.

TV loves the Yankees. Because so much of America hates them. Or did. It was the Red Sox who stepped in for the Yanks as target of our disenchantment the last few seasons. They became the very Evil Empire that the execs in Boston called the Yankees.

The theory here is "In cars, wine and ballplayers you get what you pay for, with exceptions.'' Alex Rodriguez has hit a home run in three straight post-season games, five total. He's acting like a guy who should be getting millions.

Long ago, the Yankees of Ruth, Gehrig and their teammates were nicknamed the "Bronx Bombers,'' a label shortened in the New York tabloids to Bombers. As in Bombers crush Angels. And in Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, they certainly did.

Not a great 24 hours for the folks along the Pacific Ocean. The Phillies rally with two outs in the ninth to beat the Dodgers on Monday night, and then the Yankees do some freeway wheeling, 10-1, Tuesday evening.

A Yankees-Phils World Series isn't quite as glamorous as Yankees-Dodgers or, as the West Coast crazies would have preferred, Angels-Dodgers, but the baseball itself should be fascinating.

One team is the defending World Series champ, the other long has been the template for judging American sports. Arguably the three most famous franchises on the planet are Manchester United, FC Barcelona and the New York Yankees.

In the case of all three, they're the best teams money can buy. But in a way that's incidental. Pack together a lot of star players and it results in success on the field, or pitch, and at the gate or on the tube. Did anyone notice Friday night the Yankees-Angels had a TV rating nearly twice that of Dodgers-Phils?

You sort of wish the problems with the economy were as easily correctly as those with the Yankees. Sign C.C. Sign Teixeira. Pick up Nick Swisher and that's that.

All the agonizing in March, about A-Rod on steroids, about A-Rod undergoing hip surgery, about A-Rod struggling to find his form has quieted considerably.

He's knocking balls into the stands. He's scoring from second on singles. He's playing like a $250 million man.

Rodriguez went from Seattle to Texas to the Yankees, but he's never gone to the top, never been a World Series champion, a point emphasized on the back pages of the tabs.

They've been waiting for a new Mr. October. He's arrived.

Only a week ago, after the Angels and Dodgers swept their division championship series from two very good clubs, the Red Sox and Cardinals, euphoria was on the loose in L.A. and vicinity.

Thirty miles or so from Anaheim to Dodger Stadium. Randy Newman's song "I Love L.A.'' on the radio. Great fall weather. Eat your heart out, Manhattan, while we roll back our sun roofs and roll down Interstate 5.

It isn't going to happen. Not even half of it. No Angels. No Dodgers. Instead it's going to be the very underappreciated Phillies and the very impressive Yankees. Instead it's going to be two teams who have a beautiful blend of pitching and hitting.

Southern California was getting just a bit cocky. The Lakers won the NBA title. USC is no worse than the fifth best college football team in the land (despite what the BCS says). And then the Angels and Dodgers had made it one step from one short drive to a regional World Series.

But unlike so many Hollywood productions, this one will end without the hero getting the girl, or more specifically the two baseball teams getting what they thought they would -- an opportunity to meet for a title.

A bummer. Or should that be a Bomber?

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.

RealClearSports: No Forgetting the Earthquake World Series

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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.

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

in ,
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

RealClearSports: A Good Man Takes His Leave

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By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com

SAN FRANCISCO -- He came to the plate in the second inning, the beginning of the end as it were, and the fans at the San Francisco Giants' final home game of 2009, Rich Aurilia's final home game with the Giants, began to stand and cheer. And there were tears in the man's eyes.

This last season with the Giants, this 11th season of the 15 years he has been in the majors, was less than hoped for Aurilia. His bat had slowed. His average had dropped to .215. All that didn't matter to the crowd.

They were saying goodbye. They were showing class to a player who never showed anything but class.

Aurilia wasn't Barry Bonds. Aurilia isn't Albert Pujols. But he was an All-Star when he had a 203-hit season in 2001. And as the Giants' Bruce Bochy, who managed against Aurilia and managed with Aurilia, would say, even when facing teams with Bonds and Jeff Kent, "Aurilia was the guy you didn't want up there.''

Now, on this Wednesday afternoon, with the sun shining, the bay a delightful blue and autumn nowhere in sight or in mind, Aurilia, at age 38, was the guy up there, and the crowd up on its feet.

Aurilia was the reminder of the way it was, the last player remaining from the 2002 World Series team. He had left, gone, to Seattle, San Diego, Cincinnati and then, because he still was able to help and because he never complained, he had returned in 2007 to back up at shortstop, third base, first base.

"He did a great job of accepting his role,'' said Bochy, who on Wednesday put Aurilia, the one-time kid from Brooklyn, who went to Xavarian High and St. John's University,  as did the great Chris Mullin, into the starting lineup for the first time since July 17.

It was a grand gesture, appreciated by Aurilia, appreciated by the fans, and before the day was done, and the Giants had beaten the Arizona Diamondbacks, 7-3, Aurilia would get two more standing O's and a curtain call. Even though he went 0-for-4.

It was his 1,291st game with the Giants. His last home game with the Giants. And when he went to play first in the top of the ninth, he put on sunglasses so nobody would know he was crying. Then, Bochy removed him, as was proper, and then more cheers.

It was a day for nostalgia. Randy Johnson pitched the ninth inning for San Francisco -- and having reached his 46th birthday in September, who knows if he's reached the end of the line.

Aurilia is unsure of whether he'll try for another team or just retire. He wanted just one last base hit. A blooper to center in the eighth was caught. "I thought I hit it just soft enough,'' he said, "and cracked my bat enough for it to fall in there, but it was just not meant to be.''

Nor was one more chance for the postseason. The Giants were better than expected, already reaching 86 wins, after only 72 in 2008, but they weren't quite good enough to get to the playoffs.

"That's the only thing I could have wished for me,'' said Aurilia, "that we were still in the race. But it's been a great ride, and I have great memories. I'm thankful Bochy put me in there and let me have a a day like that, because it's something I'll never forget.

"That first (ovation) surprised me. I guess they had been reading the papers knowing this would be my last game here. It's been an honor to be here, an honor to wear that uniform with 'Giants' across it the majority of my career.''

He'll go home to Arizona, near the Giants' spring complex, and then sort out what's ahead. "I know I won't be back here as a player,'' he confirmed, "and that's OK. But I know I have relationships here I'll keep forever, and there could be a spot in the organization if I decide to come back.''

Asked his most powerful memories, they were less about himself than about teammates.

"A lot of them were when I was on deck,'' he explained. "I was on deck when Brian Johnson homered (in the 12th against the Dodgers) in 1997; on deck when J.T. (Snow) homered in the 2000 playoffs off (the Mets) Armando Benitez; on deck when we clinched the NLCS (in '02) to go to the World Series.

"I guess that makes me a good teammate, because all my memories that are great have nothing to do with what I've done but with us winning.''

Nothing wrong with that. Everything right with Rich Aurilia.

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/2009/10/02/a_good_man_takes_his_leave_96492.html
© RealClearSports 2009

Giants were 90 feet away

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By Art Spander

SAN FRANCISCO -- Ninety feet. Red Smith called the 90 feet between bases the closest man has come to perfection. But Wednesday night the Giants were not quite perfect. They were gutsy. They were exciting. But they couldn’t get the tying run home from 90 feet.


They lost to the Colorado Rockies, 4-3. They lost a game in the wild card standings to the Rockies. They could have been 1½ games behind, but now they are back 3 games. Now the playoffs are even more remote. Not impossible, but remote.


There was Eugenio Velez on third. Two outs, bottom of the ninth. A game that meant everything. The crowd chanting like a college football crowd. “Let’s go Giants.’’ Clap, clap. “Let’s go Giants.’’ AT&T rocking. For eight innings the Giants had done little -- done nothing, if you want to refer to runs.


For eight innings they had been shut out by the Rockies' Jorge De La Rosa, who owns the Giants. He had pitched six times previously against San Francisco, and the Rockies had won all six, five of those victories going to De La Rosa. And now it was the bottom of the ninth, and the Giants trailed by four runs.


But De La Rosa had been taken out for pinch hitter in the top of the inning, and Franklin Morales was pitching now for Colorado. And Freddy Sanchez singled. And Pablo Sandoval singled. And Bengie Molina singled. Then Juan Uribe came up. The 38,696 fans were standing, and one side of the park would shout “Oooh,’’ and the other “Ree-bay.’’ Again and again.


Uribe grounded to short, but Troy Tulowitzki threw the ball to right. And now it was 4-2 and Velez was put in to run for Uribe. He stole second. A runner on third, a runner on second and still nobody out.


Edgar Renteria is a clutch hitter. “He’s the guy we wanted up there,’’ said Matt Cain, who would be the losing pitcher. “But sometimes it doesn’t work out.’’ Renteria popped to second. The runners held. But when pinch hitter Randy Winn grounded to first, Eli Whiteside, running for Molina, came home and Velez moved to third. Now it was 4-3 and Nate Schierholtz was coming to bat.


“You always want to be up there in the bottom of the ninth with the winning or tying run on base,’’ said Schierholtz. Which he was. But on a 3-2 pitch from Rafael Betancourt, Schierholtz struck out. The collective groan carried out to the bay.


“I swung at a bad pitch,’’ confided Schierholtz. “I couldn’t get it done.’’


Maybe it shouldn’t have come to that. Maybe the Giants should have been in front or no less than tied by the eighth. Andres Torres opened the fourth with a double, but after Sanchez struck out, Torres was caught in a bizarre double play. Sandoval grounded to Tulowitzki. Torres was trapped off second. Not on a line drive, on a grounder. Tulowitzki tagged him then threw out Sandoval at first.


“I had a big lead,’’ said Torres. “I tried to come back. I took too much.’’


The Giants took nothing in the sixth. Schierholtz walked, and reliable Rich Aurilia dropped a pinch-hit single into center. Two on, no one out, the top of the lineup, Torres, Sanchez and Sandoval coming to bat. De La Rosa struck out each, swinging.


“We had a real opportunity,’’ said Bruce Bochy, the Giants manager. “We just missed.’’


So the Giants head to Los Angeles. As players dressed, bats nosily were being shoved into canvas bags. Suitcases and travel bags lined the entrance to the clubhouse. San Francisco hits the road, to where no one can be certain.


“We’re in a situation where we need to win ball games,’’ said Bochy. “This was a tough one.’’


A tough one but also an uplifting one. Four runs behind and then one run behind, with a man on third base, 90 feet away. “We couldn’t get a timely hit or earlier a productive out. But we fought back.’’


The crowd loved it. For eight innings, the situation seemed hopeless. Suddenly the Giants were alive and the fans were alive. When Tulowitzki tossed away that possible double play, the belief was nearly palpable. Somehow, the Giants would do it. Somehow, the baseball gods would smile on them.


They did not. The Giants got close, got 90 feet from the tie. But it might as well have been 900.

RealClearSports.com: Patriots Restored Stability to a Shaky Sporting World

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By Art Spander
For RealClearSports.com

That Patriots win over the Bills on Monday night was reassuring, no matter what your rooting interests. We needed a favorite to do something, just to prove there's a reason to call them a favorite.

It had been a bad few weeks for the big guys, Tiger Woods going head-to-head the final round of a major, the PGA, with Y.E. Yang, the great nobody who became somebody, and finishing second.
Not too long after, Roger Federer, supposedly unbeatable, lost the U.S. Open final to Juan Martin del Potro, who fell flat on his back after the final point. There was some symbolism, tennis having been flipped upside down.

Upsets are supposed to be the lifeblood of sports, and society. They give us hope that anything can happen, keep us from getting bored, complacent or giving up. As kids we're preached the legend ofThe Little Engine That Could.

Hey, if a guy who by all rights should be playing basketball, the 6-foot-6, del Potro of Argentina, can drop the first set to the best tennis player in history and come back to beat him, anything's possible. Right?

Wrong. But it has the ring of authenticity.

Del Potro called his win a dream. We'll accept the proposal, but the reality is that even before his upcoming 21st birthday, he was already rated one of tennis' very best.

One of these days, the experts predicted, he was going to win a Grand Slam tournament. The day came Sunday. He wasn't dreaming.

It wasn't as if Walter Mitty, the fictional character of secret life who resided in reverie, stepped out of a cloud onto the court and stunned Mr. Federer. Del Potro had battled Roger to a fifth set in the French Open. The kid can play.

Still, as in the case of Yang v. Woods, the del Potro result was unexpected. Not impossible. Unexpected.

That's why they play the game, we've been told, because we don't know who's going to win, even though most of the time we do know.

As the late author Paul Gallico wrote, "The battle isn't always to the strong or the race to the swift, but that's the way to bet.''

A stunner is permitted now and then to keep us off-balance, but mainly sports demand a large dose of stability. We can't continually have Central Michigan upsetting Michigan State, although that was a spectacular onside kick. Or have Y.E. Yang overtaking Tiger Woods. It's too confusing.

How are judgments to be made? No less significantly, how are commercials to be made? Gillette is selling celebrity even more than it is close shaves, which is why Tiger, Federer and Derek Jeter are the chosen ones connected with the Fusion razor ads.

Sponsors want winners. Sponsors want recognition. They don't people who drop fly balls or lose five-set matches.

The New York Yankees and Pittsburgh Steelers provide a yardstick for excellence and fame, as compared at the moment to the New York Jets and Pittsburgh Pirates, although the Jets have this quarterback from Hollywood, or nearby, Mark Sanchez, who's already getting Namath-type attention.

Love the Yankees, hate the Yankees. There's not much difference as far as advertisers or television networks are concerned. The only trouble is if we ignore the Yankees, which virtually is impossible.

Because the Yankees won't allow themselves to be ignored.

Neither will the Dallas Cowboys. Or the Patriots. Or USC or Notre Dame. Or Tiger Woods or Roger Federer.

Sure we get excited about a Melanie Oudin or Kendry Morales, new faces, but it's familiar faces and familiar teams that hold our interest.

It isn't going to happen, not on our watch, but if, say, the Yankees and Red Sox, Tiger and Phil Mickelson, Serena Williams and Roger Federer all slipped into mediocrity the whole sporting scene would be a mess. We'd be clueless.

You sensed our bewilderment just when first Tiger, who never had lost a lead in a major, tumbled. And then a month later, Federer allows his streak of five straight Opens to be snatched away.

Oudin, the kid from Georgia, had "Believe'' on her shoes. But after Woods and Federer both fell on their faces, as opposed to del Potro who was on his back in celebration, we were wondering what to believe.

The Patriots provided the answer. They showed the way. They were favored, and they won, Not by much, a field goal, but they won. As they were supposed to win. Heartwarming.



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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SF Examiner: Future looks bright for Bay Area sports teams

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By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SAN FRANCISCO — The Niners’ offensive line is in trouble. The Giants are not going to catch the Rockies. The Raiders are still the Raiders, unable to beat the Chargers. Now, that’s out of the way.

It’s the nature of our business to complain, usually for good reason. But it isn’t that bad, people. The Niners are undefeated, and who cares if it’s one game and they’ll probably lose to Seattle. They’re undefeated.

The Giants remain in the pennant race. Surely after those constant water-torture defeats on the last road trip and then the bashing by the Dodgers — wasn’t San Francisco’s strength pitching? — they don’t have a legitimate chance. But they remain in the pennant race, and it’s the middle of September.

Who knows how to approach the Raiders, who again feel they were mishandled by the unofficial Conspiracy Committee the NFL created specifically to taunt them. Oakland is better than it was, if incrementally. So accept that and, as Serena Williams says, “Move on.”

There’s always something out there to grasp, something to make us believe anything is possible. Didn’t Y.E. Yang beat Tiger Woods? Didn’t Juan Martin del Potro beat Roger Federer? Didn’t Cal beat Western Washington Central State, or whatever that poor little institution is called?

We’ve been informed the Niners are going to play ugly football this season. So be it. That billboard with Mike Singletary says, “I want winners,” not, “I want guys who are pleasing aesthetically.”

The Niners’ rhetoric is borrowed from our pal Al Davis. You know the line, “Just win, baby.” Not, “Just be artistic.” In Oakland, the problem the past six years — as in San Francisco — was not how the performance looked, but how the scoreboard looked. The Raiders are the guys who came up with the Immaculate Deception, a play that was as unattractive and effective as any ever subsequently banned by the league.

Things are turning. The Niners probably will get to .500 for the first time since 2002. That also was the last year the Raiders had a winning record, and while they’re probably not going reach that small pinnacle, they should be improved, which unquestionably the Giants are. Once again we reach back to March. It looked like a reheated version of recent seasons past, if more experienced. In spring training, the idea the Giants would be alive two weeks from the end of the season would have been cause for disbelief. Also for great rejoicing.

The great baseball axiom of what might have been will vex Giants fans through the winter if, as it appears now, the team will not make the postseason. Why not dwell on what was? And what may be?

In theory, the Giants were next year’s team. Suddenly, two months into the season they got a jump on the time schedule. They’re not as good as the Dodgers, not quite as good as the Rockies. But they’re better than most everyone predicted they would be.

What will the Niners and Raiders be? The forecasts are for mediocrity or worse. But the first weekend was encouraging. And if you need a reason to dream the impossible dream, there’s always that tennis player Juan Martin del Potro.

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-Future-looks-bright-for-Bay-Area-sports-teams-59416577.html
Copyright 2009 SF Newspaper Company 

SF Examiner: Things going right for Giants as they aim for playoffs

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By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

SAN FRANCISCO — They blow one in 14 innings, they lose one 11-0, they are frustrating. They make too many errors, they don’t get enough hits and they may get into the playoffs.

Randy Johnson might have another start, Eugenio Velez lacks baseball instincts, Aaron Rowand has done less than expected and they may get into the playoffs.

It’s a year too early for the Giants. It’s five years too late. This is next season’s team. It’s also for the moment, a team that is doing it with pitching and mirrors, heart and hustle. A team that for the first time in a long while has made September baseball relevant.

Brad Penny joins the ranks. The Red Sox didn’t want him. The hated Dodgers didn’t want him before that. But now the Giants want him. Maybe he has a month of fastballs left. Maybe he can be the difference, and if he isn’t, it was worth the try.

Something has gone right at AT&T Park. For all the criticism of Brian Sabean, for all the knocks on Bruce Bochy, for all the agony caused by Edgar Rentaria — who, naturally, beats the Rockies with a slam in Sunday’s version of the biggest game of the year — something has gone right.

Baseball’s a strange sport, not so much a team game as a linking of individual performances. There are no passes to an open man, no trap blocking. Each man does his thing, but if he does it correctly and if there’s harmony in a clubhouse, baseball becomes a collective group effort. That’s what the Giants are giving.

They aren’t as good as the Dodgers, not as good as the Cardinals, probably not as good as the Phillies, but the Giants are better than they were supposed to be. That’s no small virtue after the losing seasons, after finishing 18 games below .500 in 2008. They won 72 games last year. Total.

They had won 72 games this year before the end of August. Progress, more progress than a Giants fan, or Bill Neukom or Larry Baer could have dreamed.

Out of the shadows, into the sunlight, into the pennant race. To borrow a Duane Kuiper quote used frequently of late: “unbelievable.”

In April, before the first pitch, Baer was touting the garlic fries’ green booth at the park, in effect selling the clean sizzle rather than the spuds, trying to persuade us there were reasons to buy tickets other than to suffer with the ball club.

Now that’s small potatoes. Now it’s the ball that counts. Being there, that’s the whole idea, being there when the final month arrives and every pitch is a reason to gasp or grimace, a reason to hope or agonize.

“Here we are approaching September,” Bochy said last weekend, “and we’re playing some very important games.” Now September has arrived, and because of the unforeseen sweep of Colorado, the games are no less important, no less suspenseful.

Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain are on the cover of Sports Illustrated, if only the upper corner. The country has been alerted. Baseball again matters by the Golden Gate.

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-Things-going-right-for-Giants-as-they-aim-for-playoffs-56685642.html
Copyright 2009 SF Newspaper Company

(ArtSpander.com Exclusive) Giants win the game they needed

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SAN FRANCISCO –- A day after giving up 11 runs, the Giants gave up none. A day after it seemed like it was time to forget the season, the season is there to be remembered.

“Here we are approaching September,’’ said Bruce Bochy, the manager, “and we are playing some very important ball games.’’

Like the one Friday night, the one in which Tim Lincecum went eight innings, Pablo Sandoval hit one into the seats and Giants beat the Colorado Rockies, 2-0.

This was like 2002 all over again at AT&T -- a game that mattered, a crowd that cared, a performance that scintillated. Unseasonable heat by the Bay, a temperature of 75 degrees at game time. Unsuspected brilliance from the home nine.

Lincecum hadn’t won a game in nearly a month. The guy nicknamed the Freak, because of his windup and follow-through, had been freaky. Or star-crossed. Either he gave up too many runs, as he did against the Reds a week and a half ago, or the Giants scored two few, as they did against the Rockies six days ago.

But the good times came flying back. Lincecum struck out eight, permitted only four hits. He had 39,047 people standing when he threw his 127th pitch of the game, the ball that had Seth Smith grounding out to end the eighth.

“Tim’s the guy you want on a the mound in a game like this,’’ said Bochy. “He had great stuff.’’

He pitched like the Cy Young Award winner he was in 2008, the way the Giants and crowd expected. And then he turned it over to Brian Wilson, who picked up another save, his 31st.

Monday night the Giants were wounded, blowing that 4-2 lead in the 14th to the Rockies in Denver. Thursday night the Giants were deflated, getting crushed by Arizona, 11-0, here at AT&T.

Nice run, guys. Nobody predicted you’d be in the race, so take a bow and step away.

That’s not the Giants. We see them collapse, give them their last rites and then watch in bewilderment and admiration as they prove to be as resilient as any team in baseball.

Sandoval, the Kung Fu Panda, the Bat, was back in the lineup after the flu and a right calf problem. He drove a ball into the left field bleachers in the fifth, his 20th home run. Eugenio Velez singled home Eli Whiteside in the sixth for the other run.

This on a night when the Giants left seven runners on base in the first two innings. When Lincecum twice failed to move a runner with a sacrifice bunt. When Whiteside’s attempt at a suicide squeeze in the eighth resulted in a double play, a pop up to the first baseman and Juan Uribe getting caught off third.

So many mistakes. But one victory, a win that moved the Giants to within two games of the Rockies in the National League wild card race, a win that made late-August baseball meaningful in San Francisco for the first time in years.

“This was a big game for us,’’ said Bochy, who can be excused for stating the obvious. “Every game is a big game for us from now on. But remember, there’s a lot of baseball left.’’

A lot of baseball that may not let us turn to football. This is the time we’re supposed to think about the 49ers and Raiders, but stubbornly the Giants won’t let us.

They don’t have hitting. In some games, they don’t have fielding. But they have staying power, persistence. It is not to be underestimated.

Lose 11-0 and then 24 hours later win 2-0. This is what you want in a team, the ability to rebound, the ability to struggle and stagger but succeed.

“This is what you play for,’’ agreed Bochy. “This is what you talk about in the early season, being here at this time.’’

The Giants are here. The Giants very much are here. Not for a long while could the postseason even be considered. They could fall quickly, could drop the next two to Colorado. But they also could win the next two and be tied with the Rockies.

The Giants lead the National League in shutouts with 17. It’s a sporting axiom that if the other team doesn’t score, you’re not going to lose.

“We’re the team behind,’’ reminded Bochy. “We have to catch them.’’

On Friday night, the Giants were the team ahead. On Friday night, baseball in San Francisco was thoroughly entertaining and completely satisfying.

RealClearSports: Aaron's Right; Time to let Pete in the Hall

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By Art Spander

The right man made the right statement. Nobody in baseball, in sports, is more admired, more respected than Henry Aaron. If he says Pete Rose belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame, where Aaron long ago was placed, then Pete Rose belongs in the Hall of Fame.

"How long does a person have to die?'' was Aaron's rhetorical question about the lifetime ban against Rose.

Rose, at 68, lives, but as a pariah, an individual whose accomplishments in uniform remain tainted by his arrogance in going against the code and wagering on the sport while managing the Cincinnati Reds. Then denying his sins.

Rose has more base hits than anyone in history. He played the game with a petulance. He was Charlie Hustle. Now he's Charlie Humbled, having agreed 20 years ago, 1989, to never again being involved in any way with the sport from which he cannot be separated.

"I think the thing that bothers me,'' said Aaron, "is (Rose) is missing out on a lot of things. He made a mistake. I don't know what else can be done or what else can be said.''

We've heard a lot about mistakes lately, about athletes accused or convicted of acts that in the context of society are much worse than gambling. We understand the sports we watch, the games we follow, are built entirely on integrity, that when there's a doubt if a team or individual is trying, there's no reason to care.

But Pete never fixed any games. Or beat up any women. Or abused any animals.

It's a different sport with a different issue, but if the NFL can forgive Michael Vick, reinstate him, allow him to have that so-called second chance we're always hearing counselors and coaches and parents contend is the American way, then why can't baseball finally forgive Pete Rose?

What do think is worse? What Michael Vick did to those pit bulls? Or what Pete Rose did to baseball?

These are complex times, not only in sport but our world as a whole. Our values have been tossed around, by the financial system, by our revised thoughts on what matters, to a point where the judgments of today sometimes have no relevance to those of the past.

Ponzi schemes and steroids and scandals in virtually every political arena offer a different perspective. Is Aaron, with his 755 pharmacologically unassisted blows still the lifetime home run champion, or is it Barry Bonds and his 762, even though he apparently had the advantage of the performance enhancing drugs prevalent in Barry's era?

The Hall of Fame's roster includes individuals who, to borrow the old Jim Murray line, were less than a group of choir boys. Ty Cobb, as you've been told, was a sociopath. In the old days, baseball had its supply of brigands. And gamblers.

Aaron said he would like to see these steroid guys have an asterisk by their name and their numbers. Why not do the same for Pete Rose? The man is a Hall of Fame baseball player -- the main street in Cooperstown, N.Y.,  has one shop after another selling Rose paraphernalia -- even if he's not a Hall of Fame person.

Contrition never has been his style. Neither, remind his critics, has been honesty. For years Rose denied he had wagered on baseball, but finally in 2004 on ABC-TV news, Rose conceded, "I did. That was my mistake for not coming clean a lot earlier.''

The confession was neatly timed with the release an autobiography, "My Life Without Bars,'' and skeptics thought the whole setup was just an attempt to sell more books. As if he and his publishers were unique in that plan.

Without the admission, in print, in conversation, there wouldn't be any chance Rose merely could be considered, much less put on a ballot. Now, five years later, there's been no progress. Until Aaron's suggestion.

There's talk the commissioner, Bud Selig, so opposed to lifting the restrictions on Rose, has had discussions with Aaron, who played for Milwaukee when Selig was the Brewers' president. Maybe Selig is softening. Maybe not.

It's time for baseball to soften, time for baseball to confront reality. For a generation, Rose has been separated from the game he played with a vengeance and such success.

If Hank Aaron, an individual of great honor, believes Pete belongs back in the game and then in the Hall of Fame, that should be good enough for the rest of us.



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/2009/08/06/aarons_right_time_to_let_pete_in_the_hall_96443.html
© RealClearSports 2009

RealClearSports: Bonds is Looking Better Every Day

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By Art Spander


Day by day, leak by leak, Barry Bonds keeps looking better and baseball worse. Bonds didn't ruin the game. Bonds didn't poison pigeons or fail to stand for the national anthem. He simply used performance enhancing drugs.

So, we learn, did a great many others, A-Rod, the Rocket, Manny and now, according to one of those anonymous reports -- this one on the New York Times web site, which makes it considerably more credible than others -- David Ortiz.

We may not be amused, but neither are we surprised, about the names or the fact the names keep being made public, despite promises no such things would happen.

Players, dozens of them, were tested in 2003 and told the results would remain secret. That would have been impossible.

If we know what's going on in the White House we're going to know what's going on in Bud Selig's House. You think those TV shows stay on the air because people don't like to talk?

Bonds now is insignificant. We went after him and his silent partner, Greg Anderson, the trainer, so long ago it's almost ancient history. Mark Fainaru-Wada and his then San Francisco Chronicle colleague Lance Williams left no syringe unturned. We acted like the sky was falling, then shrugged.

What's falling now are other names into place, the latest of those Ortiz and Manny, who in 2004 combined to help the Red Sox win their first World Series in 86 years. And just an aside, you think any of those self-righteous Boston fans would give back the title because, like the Bonds homers they yelped about, it might be tainted?

The line forms on the right. Soon there will be more stars who used what daintily are known as "performance enhancing drugs,'' or PEDs, than didn't. It was common practice. It was, some will argue, a necessity.

In their book, "Game of Shadows,'' Fainaru-Wada and Williams insist what pushed Bonds over the edge was watching Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in their magical run in 1998 and bristling that the two were getting more attention than he.

Barry got his attention and his home run record. Does it deserve an asterisk, as Hank Aaron, who held the old mark, contends? Maybe. But Selig, the commissioner, is loath to tarnish his legacy. So there aren't going to be any little stars next to a name with the notation, "Was thought to have put something into his body besides milk and honey.''

Players took steroids. Baseball did nothing to stop them until it was too late. Back in the 1989 World Series, the one in which an earthquake had us much more frightened than a little thing like illegal substances, somebody mentioned a drink called the "Canseco Cocktail.''

In theory, Jose -- looking, well, bulked up -- was ingesting stuff that enabled him to hit that shot into the third deck of the place now called Rogers Centre but then known as SkyDome.

How naïve. He wasn't taking things orally, he was taking injections in his bottom, not that the method was of such great importance.

After the New York Times disclosures on Ortiz and Ramirez -- revelations, they're not -- Canseco said he wasn't surprised. Neither was anybody else, Jose. But we have to find people willing to give their opinions, and inevitably when drugs and baseball are involved, Canseco appears as an expert witness.

The probability that anyone who starting in the mid-1990s hit a lot of balls over fences was artificially enhanced has turned into a very good one. The probability that those major leaguers who agreed to be tested "secretly'' in 2002 will be outed is an excellent one.

The feds, knowing all too well that steroids were illegal in America, if not America's national pastime, seized the results of the tests. Now newspapers are seizing the chance to make everyone look bad.

The Times says its information about Ramirez and Ortiz "emerged through interviews with multiple lawyers and others connected to the pending litigation." The lawyers spoke anonymously, the Times said, because the testing information is under seal by a court order.

Barry Bonds has a different problem. He's being hounded by the government on charges of perjury, the U.S. claiming he lied under oath when in December 2003 Barry said he never used the stuff.

But the guess is that Barry never will come to trial. And who cares anymore? He took his grief. He was the Lone Ranger, the one who stood alone until it seems there was no room left on the list for all players who were guilty. The line forms to the right.

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/2009/07/30/bonds_is_looking_better_every_day.html
© RealClearSports 2009

RealClearSports: Only in New York, the Mets Mess

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By Art Spander


It was the great golfer Lee Trevino who correctly told us never to complain about what you shot. Ninety percent of the people don't care, he said, the other 10 percent wish you had been worse.

So it has been with this situation involving the Mets front office, something more Hollywood than New York. A team executive, Tony Bernazard, was fired after challenging minor leaguers to a fistfight. Then the general manager, Omar Minaya, blamed a New York Daily News reporter, Adam Rubin, for Bernazard's demise.
We know the rest of the country looks upon New York without sympathy. Troubles in Gotham? Most American sports fans wish whatever goes on would be worse.

"Tragedy," cracked Woody Allen, "is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall down a manhole. What do I care?''

Long Island didn't care because the Washington Nationals dispatched their manager, Manny Acta, recently. Yet, we're all supposed to be concerned about the Mets? New York believes so.

Everything in New York -- A-Rod's back, the unsold season tickets at the two new ball parks, the Knicks' inability to draft Stephen Curry who, heh, heh, was taken by the Warriors -- is supposed to be of national interest.

On the field, the Mets are perhaps the biggest bust in baseball, and who can ignore that collapse? But a personnel director challenging a group of minor leaguers because he didn't like their attitude? And then the GM getting into a grumping contest with a newsie? It isn't Iran or the U.S. economy, that's a given.

Unless you're a New Yorker. Then it's the only thing that matters. Unless you're a Yankees fan. My friend, Bill Madden, the sharp baseball guy from the Daily News, said the Yankees and Mets didn't have games as much as they had 162 incidents.

What Madden's paper said in the headlines on the back and front pages was "Smears of a Clown,'' and "Shirt Hits the Fan.'' And no matter what else, those lines are both telling and brilliant. Newsday bannered, "Big Apple Circus,'' while the Post, called it "Amazin' Fireworks.''

Why doesn't this nonsense happen in Minneapolis? Or San Diego? Or Cincinnati? If a Mariners executive lost his temper, would anyone in Seattle lose perspective? (Since the city is down to one printed paper, would anyone in Seattle even know?)

People screw up every day, in sports and out. You make a mistake, you correct the mistake, apologize if need be, and then move on. Except in New York. Nobody ever moves on in Gotham. Bill Buckner still is a villain or a hero, depending on your viewpoint. Twenty years from now Adam Rubin will be. In New York.

Reporters are told to tell the story, not be the story. Rubin blew that one. Rather, Minaya did. He contended Rubin wrote critical articles about the Mets because he wanted Bernazard canned so Rubin could get Bernazard's job. Now there's a new one.

Every journalist thinks he knows more than the GM or head coach or manager, but heaven help him if he actually accepted the position. Especially in New York. As the lyrics go, paranoia strikes deep.

Rubin confessed only that he didn't know how he was going to cover the Mets any longer. May I suggest with a couple of straitjackets and a hidden microphone? It's one thing when Fox News and Obama can't get along, but a baseball journalist and a GM? Help!

It's time for the Mets executives either to take a vacation or take a hike. These are ball games, not life-threatening decisions. What happened to the Mets big shots was that their team fell apart, which anywhere is looked upon unkindly and in New York is akin to passing military secrets to the Taliban.

When teams fail to meet expectations, even if the reasons -- injuries for example -- are legitimate, the sad souls who put them together, Minaya, Bernazard, et al, tend to fall apart as quickly as the ball club. For the past couple of years, Minaya was treated as both delightfully brilliant and pleasant. Then all of a sudden, he's accusing a lowly sports writer of conspiracy.

Panic is what it is. Understandably. Nothing can be approached rationally in New York, and so Minaya couldn't approach Adam Rubin's knocks rationally. There they were one of the most famous executives in baseball and one of the stars of a tabloid newspaper in a messy struggle.

How unfortunate. Or some might say, to borrow from Lee Trevino, how wonderful.

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/2009/07/28/only_in_new_york_the_mets_mess_96436.html
© RealClearSports 2009

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

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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

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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.

Crossing the bridge: A’s against the Giants

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OAKLAND -- The great Roger Kahn called it “transpontine madness,’’ the baseball played across the East River in New York, across the bridge, alluding specifically to the Dodgers in Brooklyn, that borough of individuality.

The passion isn’t quite the same in the Bay Area, where the bridge is longer but the rivalry shorter and surely less intense. The years don’t extend back to the early part of the 20th century. The feeling doesn’t preclude fans wearing hats that carry the logos and colors of both teams.

But there is something special when the Athletics face the Giants, which they do this weekend in three games at San Francisco’s AT&T Park. Oakland figuratively is the unwanted child, living in, well, not poverty, but hardly in the elegance and with the history of the Giants.

The A’s, however, as the upper management used to tout in the commercials and on the billboards, have won four World Series since they took up residence in Northern California in 1968. Or four more than San Francisco since the Giants came to the region 10 years earlier.

Interleague play it is, and if the purists want to find fault, what would you rather have, Giants against the Nationals, A’s against the Royals?

The fans love this stuff. So do the players, especially the A’s, who Thursday, down 3-0, rallied to beat the Minnesota Twins, 4-3 at the Coliseum.

Especially the A’s because, as fate would dictate, Rajai Davis, claimed off waivers a year ago April from those Giants, singled home pinch runner Chris Denofria in the bottom of the ninth of a game then tied 3-3.

“We’re happy to come out on top,’’ said A’s manager Bob Geren. A two-game losing streak had ended. A seven-game home stand had ended with five wins.

“Now,’’ said Geren, “let’s go across the bay.’’

Now let’s see the Giants’ Tim Lincecum, 5-1, 2008 National League Cy Young winner, against the A’s Vin Mazzaro, 2-0, earned run average 0.00.

“They’re playing well,’’ Geren said of the Giants, who did lose at Arizona, 2-1, on Thursday but finished their road trip 6-4. “We’re going to be seeing three outstanding pitchers, and we got some good-looking ones of our own.”

Lincecum, 300-game winner Randy Johnson and 8-1 Matt Cain are scheduled for the Giants, with, in order, Mazzaro, Josh Outman (4-0) and Brett Anderson (3-6) for the A’s.

“Lincecum throws hard and has a good breaking ball,’’ Geren said, emphasizing what everyone knows. “Mazzaro is off to a great start, and except maybe for spring training they haven’t seen him at all, It’s a good park to pitch in, so it should be a nice pitchers’ duel.’’

Then, showing a perverse nature too often missing, Geren added, “Watch, it will be 11-10.’’

Whatever it is, it will be enjoyable. Not a lot of hatred when the teams meet, not like the Cubs and White Sox or the Yankees and Mets. We’re too mellow. And somewhat lacking in intolerance. But not in interest.

“It’s going to be fun,’’ said Mazzaro, brought up a couple of weeks back from Sacramento. “There’s going to be a good crowd. I’m excited. I’m going against a Cy Young winner. I’m pumped.’’

He and the other A’s pitchers also will be going against the Giants from the batter’s box. No designated hitter in the National League park. “My swing is not too good,’’ said Mazzaro, “but I think I can get the bunts down. I’m happy to swing the bat against (Lincecum). I can’t wait until Friday.’’

AT&T will be filled or virtually filled. For the A’s, that will be a change. On Thursday, the A’s, who had won seven of their previous nine games, drew a disgraceful 13,383 fans to the Coliseum.

“The atmosphere will be different over there,’’ said Trevor Cahill. He was the A’s starter Thursday and was effective for the most part, other than the fourth when Joe Crede went after a sinker Geren said usually results in a ground out but this time resulted in a three-run homer.

“(Wednesday) night, they kind of snatched one from us,’’ said Geren. “Today we won one they probably should have won. To bounce back and win this one is a pretty good feeling.’’

Cahill was feeling more than pretty good even if had no decision, Brad Ziegler earning the victory.

“We wanted to get back on track,’’ he said. “It’s going to be a huge series against the Giants. When we cross over the bridge, it’s going to be so good to go over there with some confidence.’’

Not much madness around here, but indeed a great deal of anticipation.

SF Examiner: Time for government to forfeit case against Bonds

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SAN FRANCISCO — To the question of whether anyone remains interested in Barry Bonds in his second year out of a Giants uniform, there is a clear and present answer: The U.S. attorney’s office does.

But not to join their team.

They are hardly interested in putting Barry behind, say, the No. 3 hitter. What they want is to put him behind bars.

Lots of luck.

A few days past, federal prosecutors filed a brief requesting a reversal of U.S. District Judge Susan Illston’s well-known decision to bar from Barry’s perjury case evidence she determined to be hearsay.

Yes, Judge Illston’s ruling came back in February, and this is June, but the wheels of justice grind slowly, sort of the way Bonds moved out in left field his last year with the Giants, the 2007 season.

Peter Keane, Dean Emeritus of the Golden Gate University School of Law, told the New York Daily News that the recent government filing “reeks of desperation,” and is merely “postponing the inevitable.”

So feds, give it up already.

We admire your perseverance and attention to detail. If George Washington told the truth, ballplayers probably ought to do the same.

And anybody who has dealt with him, in a courtroom or in a clubhouse, understands Barry can be uncooperative, abrasive and a pain, thus there is an eagerness to get after the man.

But enough. Barry didn’t sell people sub-prime mortgages. Barry didn’t run off with anyone’s 401 (k). Barry didn’t tell the world Iraq had weapons of mass destruction.

The government essentially is wasting millions of our dollars trying to make a mark against a guy who has made his mark, 762 career home runs. What if he were just a singles hitter with a .238 lifetime average?

“These documents tend to show that Bonds was lying when he testified in the grand jury that he did not knowingly take steroids,” U.S. attorney Barbara J. Valliere wrote in a 56-page argument dealing with Bonds.

Los Angeles attorney Mark Geragos, who represents Bonds’ trainer Greg Anderson — aka The Guy Who Won’t Talk — called the government’s appeal “the last vestige of scoundrels.”

The dirty rotten kind or just the ordinary garden variety?

Maybe Barry is guilty, maybe he isn’t. What does it matter any more?

The guy we could call the Slammer for all those long balls is not going to the slammer. He’s almost certainly not even going to trial.

Which is fine with me. Spend the money on something worthwhile, cancer research, feeding the underprivileged. I keep getting images of Javert, the police inspector in Les Miz, who stalks Jean Valjean through the years.

Does America care more that Bonds seemingly cheated in baseball than a lot of guys at banks and loan agencies cheated people out of their homes?

Can’t the feds and Barry, who now also has domestic problems, call this battle a tie without plans for a makeup game?

Bonds’ attorneys might tell the prosecutors how much they admire persistence. The prosecutors might tell Barry and his counsel that while there’s no clock in baseball there should be one in perjury cases.

Then the attorneys can write books and make tons of money. It’s as American as apple pie, motherhood and denial of steroid use.

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

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Copyright 2009 SF Newspaper Company

A’s Beane: “We’re doing the best we can with what we have’’

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OAKLAND -- This was the week that was for the Oakland Athletics, the week that presaged what very well might be. This was the week the A’s could step off the treadmill and not so much take a deep breath as a long look at the future.

All we’ve heard, because of rumors, because of speculation, is who the A’s will trade. There’s Matt Holliday, the well-paid slugger. Or Bobby Crosby, the struggling infielder. Or Orlando Cabrera, because every team needs a shortstop. Every team including the A’s.

But Billy Beane, Mr. Moneyball, the general manager, who literally was on a treadmill, because he chooses to work out in the facility next to the clubhouse while the game is on, tells us to stop speculating and guessing. Tells us to stop dealing in extremes.

“People say you’re going for it or you’re not going for it,’’ Beane said Sunday, not long after Oakland went for its sixth straight win and a three-game series sweep, beating the Baltimore Orioles, 3-0.

“Sometimes you just are trying to do the best you can with what you have. We spend what we have here. OK, we got this; we can trade for Matt Holliday. We can sign Jason Giambi, sign (Nomar) Garciaparra to help our young players. You cut the piece of the pie into as many bites as you can.’’

Six in a row for the first time in three seasons. Seven and a third shutout innings by rookie Vin Mazzaro, the real Jersey Boy, in his second start. His total 13 2/3 scoreless innings is the longest streak for a starter beginning his career with Oakland.

Six in a row and questions whether Beane, as we’ve read, plans to dismantle this group, once more dealing the reality of the present for the possibility of the future. Beane contends he does not.

“One of the most important things coming into the season was to develop our young pitching staff,’’ said Beane. “For a small or mid-market team to sustain success for any amount of time, they have to have pitching that comes from within.

“In the off-season we brought in some veteran guys, and one reason was to give these young pitchers as much of a cushion as we could. We were hoping we would be a better offensive team to give the young guys room for error. It didn’t start out that way, because of injuries and the fact we just weren’t hitting. But what’s happened now, quite frankly, is the young pitchers have taken the bull by the horns, and we sort of responded by hitting better.

“So it’s kind of the young guys leading the other guys.’’

The young guys are Mazzaro, 22, Darren Cahill, 21, Brett Anderson, 21, and Josh Outman, 24. Add 25-year-old Dallas Braden, and every A’s starter has at least one win in those last six games.

“It’s nice to see,’’ said Beane, “the last two weeks, the last 20 games or so, these kids have a sub-3.00 ERA. The starting pitching has been pretty amazing. And if you got that, you’ve got a chance every game.’’

Across the Bay, the Giants have that in Lincecum, Cain, Zito and Randy Johnson. Now the A’s have it. And should have it the coming years. It’s the early 2000s all over again, with Tim Hudson, Mark Mulder and Barry Zito. It’s visions of contending teams, if not immediately then not far away.

“When Hudson, Mulder and Zito came up,’’ said Beane, “they not only were good but they were good right away, and so we had them for a long time and didn’t have to spend much time developing them.

“Everyone wants to win every year. When we traded some of our guys, we acquired a lot of pitching, knowing that once again for us to maintain long-term success, we have to have that pitching.’’

They’ve got it. Those six games, when the bleeding as stopped, when the A’s staggered back from a 19-30 record on June 1, the Oakland starters have allowed only five earned runs in 40 1/3 innings, a 1.12 earned run average. It’s hard to lose if the other team doesn’t score.

The real question was whether the A’s were going to lose players. Whether Holliday, now up to a .282 batting average after sinking to .227, would be swapped. When Cabrera, signed during spring training, would be dealt.

“It’s natural speculation because of our market place,’’ said Beane. The A’s drew only 17,208 on Sunday. “And because of our history. But we don’t have payroll issues. We’ve managed our payroll. And at the end of the day, we want to have as good a year as we can.

“Where that puts us I don’t know, but the last week at least shows what can happen.’’

Randy Johnson makes the Bay Area smile

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As the man himself said, “It’s nice to have this moment.’’ More than nice, it was exciting. It was uplifting. For Randy Johnson. For his family. For baseball. No less significantly, for the Bay Area.

Maybe this hasn’t been a complete sporting wasteland. The Sharks had the best record in hockey before they collapsed as normal in the playoffs. Cal football had a winning record. But mostly, we’ve been through tough times.

The Giants, the A’s, the 49ers, the Raiders and the Warriors all have had a losing season, the 49ers and Raiders multiple losing seasons. We needed something to make us smile, to make us cheer. To make us remember the enjoyment inherent in sports.

On Thursday, we remembered.

On Thursday, Randy Johnson won his 300th game. He did it in a San Francisco Giants uniform. A carpetbagger, in a way. A “rent-a-player.’’

A newcomer who is an old-timer. But who also grew up in the region, Livermore, and has deep ties even if for the previous 20 of his 21 years he played in Montreal, Seattle, Houston, Arizona and New York.

The last memorable occasion was Barry Bonds’ 756th home run. Steroids didn’t matter. His personality didn’t matter. Barry drove one to centerfield and the strobe lights flashed and the crowd screamed. The ordinary had become the extraordinary.

Now, finally, another thrill. We’d been spoiled through the years, the Catch, Baron Davis’ dunk against Dallas, the Raiders’ Sea of Hands, Canseco’s blast into the upper desk in Toronto.

Do you recall Dave Stewart out-staring and out-pitching Roger Clemens? The instant the Giants captured the pennant in 2002?  Now we can recall 45-year-old Randy Johnson, laconic, iconic, bringing one home for Northern California.

“It was a long road,’’ Johnson said on the Comcast postgame show. “If there is one word to sum it up, I persevered.’’

Not just on a rainy afternoon in Washington, when the 6-foot-9 Johnson made history by becoming the 24th pitcher and sixth lefthander to reach 300 victories. But through a career in which, because of his size, he had to perfect mechanics and later had to come back from injuries.

Baseball, it’s been said, is less a team sport than a series of concerts by the artists. Still, when a baseball player helps himself, with a well-pitched game, with three hits in four at bats, he is helping his team. All of Johnson’s wins meant 300 victories for the clubs on which he played, number 300 coming for the benefit of the Giants.

“I’m exhausted,’’ conceded Johnson, who came out with a 2-1 lead after six, watched the defense make some spectacular plays to retain the advantage and then sat in the dugout when the often hitless Giants picked up three runs in the top of the ninth.

“I had a senior moment when I thought I was 25,’’ said Johnson. “Just think about it. I’m coming on 600 games.’’

Johnson’s son, Tanner, in a Giants uniform, was with his father. “I think the coolest moment has to be able to share it with a son,’’ Randy said.

“I wish my dad was here,’’ he added, referring to his late father. “But I haven’t been able to think about that for the last 17 years. I hope he was watching from up above.’’

The rest of us were watching from down here. And from everywhere. At Nationals Stadium, everyone seemed to be a Johnson fan, even those in red Washington caps. Baseball fans appreciate records, whether set by their team or the opposition.

Maybe Randy deserved a better stage, a larger crowd, but scripts are not to be prepared in sport. Everything is extemporaneous. You never know what might happen. Or what might not happen. Any hope that number 300 would be recorded at home, at AT&T, was incidental. You take what you can get.

Johnson went out and took this one, pitched beautifully. Which is what is needed for the Giants, a team that is last in hitting.

“I came here,’’ Johnson said of joining San Francisco, “to help this team turn things around.

“The one thing a pitcher has control over, essentially, is strikeouts. He has no control over wins that he gets. But wins always outweigh the strikeouts. I wanted to be known for winning games rather than for strikeouts.’’

He’s known for both. And in the Bay Area he’ll be known for an afternoon when we remembered the excitement of a magic moment. Welcome to the club, Randy.

SF Examiner: Bay Area teams hurt by MLB scheduling

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By Art Spander
Special to The Examiner

There was a woman, an entertainer, who in her era was scandalous but today wouldn’t even draw a reprimand from the so-called religious right. Mae West was the lady’s name, and among her axioms was one advising too much of a good thing is wonderful.

For no good reason, the people who create the schedules for major league baseball unfortunately have concurred. Thus the beginning of the week the Giants and A’s both have been playing at home. Not too bad for the Giants, who on Memorial Day drew 40,034 to AT&T Park.

Terrible for the A’s, who on the very same Monday afternoon had only 15,280. That, surprisingly and delightfully, both teams managed a rare combo win begs the issue. If a game is played and virtually nobody watches it — the situation for the A’s — does it count? It’s tough enough in Oakland, with the team crawling along on the bottom of American League West, but to force the A’s to go head-to-head for attendance with the more established Giants at the same time in a different — and less attractive — place, is grossly unfair.

Not that people beyond our fair region give a hoot. The Mets and Yankees have no trouble getting both attention and attendance in a metropolitan area of 18 million. Chicago can handle the Cubs and White Sox playing a few miles apart, and the Dodgers are in Los Angeles and the Angels are in Anaheim — no matter what the name implies — a 30-mile separation.

We’re told scheduling difficulties are caused by interleague play and there aren’t enough dates available to prevent conflicts. So baseball gives the A’s the shaft, and it isn’t being very kind to the Giants because both teams must jockey for space in papers shrinking like, well, I was going to say Travis Ishikawa’s batting average, but then the man hits a home run and goes 4-for-4. 

There was an era when the term June Swoon held great fear for Giants fans, the team usually playing well through May and then collapsing as summer arrived. It won’t be a problem this year for a franchise that is helpless at the plate — or was until Ishikawa’s unforeseen breakout.

The rumored trade for Dan Uggla? Or Nick Johnson? Neither deal would hurt. But the name Matt Cain should not be allowed in any discussion. Better to lose, 2-1, which the Giants have done much too often, than 8-7, which is what the A’s did the other night after holding a 5-1 lead going into eighth against Arizona.

After spring training, the suggestion was if you could link the A’s hitting with the Giants’ pitching you might have a winner. The problem has been the A’s weren’t hitting, and while the Giants do have a strong staff, particularly Cain, Tim Lincecum and hard-luck Barry Zito, they also have Brian Wilson, who can blow any lead.

Each club is stuck mostly with what it has. And the beginning of this week each was stuck playing home games against the other. A bad idea indeed.

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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