The World Series...20 years ago

So I'm cleaning out some old stuff today and I come upon a very dusty official program from the 1989 World Series. Can it be 20 years since I flew down from Portland to join my Mom at the only World Series games I've ever attended?

Wow. I guess so.

Funny thing. Here I am on a late Sunday, sitting down to write and I honestly don't know who won Game 4 of this year's Series between the Yankees and Phillies, assuming they even played today, given the wet weather on the East Coast these past few days.

Twenty years ago, I had a lot more invested in who was playing and who I was rooting for. The 1989 Series was memorable for two things: 1. It was called the "Bay Bridge Series" that year because it pitted the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland Athletics -- the two teams I grew up watching as a boy. 2. It was the year that a devastating earthquake caused extensive damage in the Bay Area and forced a suspension of the Series after the first two games had been played.

As fate would have it, I attended the first two games on a Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 14 and 15, and flew home the next day to Portland -- just ahead of the quake that struck on Tuesday as the teams were warming up for Game 3. The Loma Prieta earthquake opened a gash on the Bay Bridge, the main artery between San Francisco and Oakland; flattened sections of Interstate 880, the freeway I traveled countless times between my hometown, Fremont, and Oakland; and generally wreaked havoc throughout the region. To say I was lucky to have left town when I did is to state the obvious. There's no telling what complications might have ensued if I'd stuck around even a day longer.

How did I come to attend the Series?

My Mom has always loved baseball -- whether it was showing up to my Little League games, watching her beloved A's on TV or, for several years while her health permitted it, attending in person as a season-ticket holder. The A's were in their glory years in the late '80s and they were my team as well. (For some reason, I never took a liking to the Giants, despite growing up in the era of Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal and the rest. In fact, it drove my Dad nuts that I rooted for the L.A. Dodgers, fantasizing that I'd someday replace Maury Wills as the team's shortstop and premier base-stealer.)

As a season-ticket holder (even for part of the season), my Mom had the opportunity to buy World Series tickets for the first two games being played in Oakland. She invited me down and we sat along the first-base line. I still remember having my hand on a potential souvenir, for a split second during a mad scramble for a foul ball, and looking up in bewilderment to see a kid emerge from a pack of adults with a big smile and a gleaming white baseball.

As I flip through the official program of the so-called Fall Baseball Classic, I'm gratified to see that I hung onto the two scorecards for the games I saw. (Here's where it's probably too much information for non-baseball fans but hey...) In Saturday's game, Dave Stewart pitched a five-hit shutout and Dave Parker and Walt Weiss hit home runs as the A's won, 5-0.

In Sunday's game, the A's won again, 5-1, as leadoff hitter Rickey Henderson (my favorite player) tripled, singled twice, walked and stole a base. Relief pitcher Dennis Eckersley, whom I played against in 13-to-15-year-old Fremont Pony League baseball, came in to get the last two outs.

The A's were a real powerhouse then, with future Hall of Famers Henderson and Eckersley, plus sluggers Parker, Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire, and Manager Tony LaRussa. Who knew Canseco and McGwire, the so-called Bash Brothers, were doing steroids then? (Barry Bonds hadn't yet joined the Giants, btw.)

Anyway, when the Series resumed after a 10-day delay, the A's went to San Francisco and won two more games there for a 4-0 sweep. Meanwhile, I was back in Portland, helping assign and edit stories about the quake and its human and physical toll for The Oregonian. I hadn't thought much about the weird circumstances that defined the 1989 Series -- at least, not lately. It hadn't dawned on me that two full decades had passed since experiencing the highs of seeing the A's and the lows of helping to convey the dimensions of the natural disaster that wound up killing 62 people, including 42 in the collapse of the Cypress Viaduct on I-880.

My Mom's now 82 and coming up to Medford in three weeks for Jordan's wedding. I think she'd be pleased to see I still have the $5.00 official program, two ticket stubs and fond memories of the Bay Bridge Series.