Twenty years ago today my friend Steve and I went to the second game of the '89 World Series between the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland Athletics. We sat in the right field bleachers, where we had a great view of a guinea fowl being tossed from the stands at Candy Maldonado as he chased down Dave Parker's wicked line drive in the corner. Then a walk to Dave Henderson, and I remember sitting down, almost falling over backwards like a puppet with cut strings, as everyone around me rose to cheer Terry Steinbach's home run leaving the park.
Mike Moore was on that day. What can I say? The Giants hitters were no match for him. The A's brought in Honeycutt and Eckersley to finish off in the ninth. Four hits for the Giants, and I left the park gloomy. Steve didn't rub it in. Too much. A's up two games, Giants not looking very competitive.
We drove back to Santa Cruz, wondering what fate might bring.
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