Baseball Chatter

In the inaugural "Out of Ink" podcast, Matt & Josh chat about a sport they know a little something about. As two former Major League Baseball beat writers, the duo break down the latest happenings and trends across the nation.

The LA-SF rivalry -- Chapters 7-8

-- by Josh Suchon

The Giants and Dodgers resume their rivalry tonight at Chavez Ravine, and another chapter in the rivalry begins as Guggenheim Baseball takes over as the Dodgers owner. We’re looking back at the different chapters in the rivalry’s rich history.

Chapter Seven – The Dodgers go corporate (1998-1999)

The Giants enjoyed moments of holding the upper-hand over their rivals through the first four decades since the team moved to California. But they never could sustain that advantage for very long.

That was finally changing. The Giants won the most recent battle on the field, and it was about to get better off the field. They’d secured financing for a new ballpark in downtown San Francisco, the countdown was on for leaving Candlestick, and they still had Barry Bonds.

Down south, Peter O’Malley looked into the future, and didn’t think family ownership was in that future. O’Malley became owner of the Dodgers in 1979, when his father Walter died, and continued running the club with the excellence of his father. Even if it was a little thing, like free ice cream for employees whenever the team was in first place, the organization exuded grace.

It was reported as an estate and tax planning move for the O’Malley family. Some believe that O’Malley knew that he’d eventually have to raise ticket and parking prices, he’d have to put advertisements all over the ballpark, that he’d have to add more luxury suites and other amenities to keep the payroll skyrocketing, and he didn’t want that on his legacy.

Whatever the case, the final straw was when L.A. city officials rejected a plan to bring an NFL franchise to Chavez Ravine, following the departures of the Rams and Raiders after the 1994 season. O’Malley scrapped plans for the football team, and put the cherished baseball club up for sale after 47 years of family ownership.

It was sold to Rupert Murdoch’s NewsCorp. The deal closed during the 1998 spring training.

Thirty-seven games into their ownership, Fox Entertainment traded Mike Piazza and Todd Zeile to the Florida Marlins for Bobby Bonilla, Charles Johnson, Gary Sheffield and Jim Eisenreich. General manager Fed Claire was blindsided by the trade. He was never consulted.

On paper, it wasn’t thatbad a trade. But sending away the outrageously popular Piazza was a PR disaster, and the nightmare was made worse when all the newcomers flopped.

The message was clear. Fox was building new regional TV networks across the country, and the baseball team was just a pawn. The Dodgers were just another corporation with no soul.

Throughout the rivalry’s history, there were always those awkward times when a player went from one rival to the other. Juan Marichal ended his career with the Dodgers (and was lustily booed). Dusty Baker went straight from LA to SF. Brett Butler went from SF to LA, and became the biggest villain at Candlestick.

But the role reversal that was the weirdest of all is when the Giants signed free-agent pitcher Orel Hershiser for the 1998 season. He wasn’t close to the Orel from a decade earlier, but he made every start, went over 200 innings, and won his first two starts against the Dodgers.

In the first year under Fox, without Piazza, the Dodgers finished in third place and 15 games behind division winner San Diego. The second year, they were third place again, eight games under .500, and 23 games behind first-place Arizona.

The team ahead of them each year was the Giants. They lost a one-game playoff to the Cubs for the wild card in 1998, and were eliminated in the final week of the 1999 season by the D-backs.

Even if they just missed the playoffs, the Giants were relevant, they were always a factor in the playoff races, they had the best player in baseball in Bonds, and now they had a new ballpark on the way.

Chapter Eight -- Giants get a new home (2000-2003)

The single biggest development in the LA-SF rivalry was the opening of Pacific Bell Park in 2000. It changed everything. It changed the Giants fan base and energized its players.

For the first 42 years in their California rivalry, the Dodgers were the classy team that played in the warm beautiful SoCal sunshine in a cathedral palace with magnificent blue and white uniforms.

The Giants were a rag-tag outfit that played in a gray, dumpy, miserably cold ballpark in a bad part of town. Fans didn’t enjoy going to games, they survived the elements to watch their team.

Fittingly, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky when the Giants opened the ballpark against the Dodgers on a brilliant Tuesday afternoon. Kevin Elster would hit three home runs and the Dodgers won 6-5, but that was just one day.

The ballpark reviews were in, and the Giants were the hottest ticket in town. It was no longer for the diehards to survive the elements. Casual fans showed up. Habits were changed. Fans took public transportation. Every game sold out. Every game was an electric atmosphere. Fans watched games from kayaks in the Bay, beyond the right-field fence, and fought for Bonds’ “splash hits.”

The Giants won a majors-best 97 games that year, ran away from the fading Diamondbacks in late summer, and finished 11 games ahead of the Dodgers.

The next year, Bonds hit 73 home runs to break Mark McGwire’s single-season record. He tortured the Dodgers along the way. He hit career home run No. 500 off the Dodgers on April 17, a game-winning two-run shot in the eighth. The next day, he hit No. 501 in the seventh inning, off Chan Ho Park, for another game-winner.

Bonds hit No. 67 on Sept. 24 off James Baldwin, one of the few Dodgers pitchers who challenged him in the series. Bonds was walked seven times in the three-game series at Dodger Stadium. The Dodgers fans booed Bonds when he came to the plate, cheered when he struck out, booed when he was walked, and couldn’t help cheering when he hit one out.

Fate would lead to another Giants-Dodgers showdown on the final weekend. The 9/11 terrorist attacks postponed a week of games. The games missed were moved to the week after the regular season was supposed to end. So instead of ending the year at San Diego, Bonds’ pursuit of history, and the Giants playoff push, culminated against the Dodgers in San Francisco.

Bonds broke the record on the third-to-last day of the 2001 season. Once again, Park was his victim. He hit No. 71 in the first inning, No. 72 in the third inning, didn’t miss No. 73 by much in the sixth inning, and was walked twice. (His 73^rd would come on the final day of the season.)

Bonds won the battle, but the Dodgers won the war. They won that night, 11-10, in a game that lasted four hours and 27 minutes (which set a nine-inning record at the time). That eliminated the Giants from the playoffs.

The scoreboard for final weekend eliminations was now even.

Giants over Dodgers – 1982 and 1991

Dodgers over Giants – 1993 and 2001

In 2002, the teams would fight for the playoffs for the second time in six years. This time, it was a three-way race with the Diamondbacks. The defending champs pulled away with the division, leaving the wild card race at stake between the rivals for the final weekend.

With the Dodgers watching helplessly from San Diego, the Giants beat the Astros on the penultimate day to clinch the playoffs. Tom Goodwin, who was released by the Dodgers earlier in the year and still drawing his paycheck from them, delivered a pinch-hit, two-run single for the final outcome.

The Giants and Bonds got the playoff monkey off their backs, finally beating the Braves in the division series, stomping the Cardinals in the NLCS, and faced the Angels in the World Series.

It was the ultimate nightmare for the Dodgers: their longtime rival against their freeway rival. Either way, the Dodgers would lose. The Angels staged a historic Game 6 rally at home, and won a drama-free Game 7 to win their first world title. Pouring salt on the wounds, the Angels manager was former Dodgers catcher Mike Scioscia and his coaching staff was filled with former Dodgers as well.

In 2003, Dusty Baker and Jeff Kent were gone. It didn’t matter. Bonds won another MVP, Jason Schmidt was the Cy Young runner-up (losing to Dodger closer Eric Gagne), the Giants won 100 games and were back in the playoffs yet again.

It was the Giants third playoff appearance in four years. In the seven seasons from 1997-2003, the Giants played just nine games that didn’t matter (seven in 1999 and two in 2001).

The Dodgers were spending big money on free agents, yet had the reputation of a team that would self-destruct late in the season. They hadn’t made the playoffs in seven years and hadn’t won a playoff series in 15 years.

The fans were still showing up. Over three million paid in seven of the eight years between 1996 and 2003. But frustration was building, and the greatest stretch in Giants history was only making it worse.

Tuesday: Chapters 9-10.

The LA-SF rivalry -- Chapters 5-6

-- by Josh Suchon

The Giants and Dodgers renew their legendary rivalry tomorrow night at Chavez Ravine. A new Dodgers ownership group means a new chapter in this rivalry.

We've broken the rivalry up into 11 chapters, since the teams moved to California. Yesterday, the first four chapters were reviewed. Now that we hit the 1980s, when this blogger was alive and remembers vividly, more details get added.

Chapter Five – Humm Baby Arrives (1986-92)

Bob Lurie saved the Giants from moving to Toronto when he bought the team in 1976. But a decade later, it was the lowest point in San Francisco history, and Lurie was trying everything he could to leave Candlestick Park.

Attendance was at an all-time low for the Giants. They drew 818,697 fans in 1985, an average of just 10,107. Candlestick was cold and miserable, and the baseball played there even worse.

In 1986, the Giants turned to a member of the Dodgers 1959 world championship team to resurrect their franchise. Roger Craig was hired as manager. His favorite expression, “Humm Baby” was used in marketing campaigns. He brought a positive outlook, installed rookies Will Clark and Robbie Thompson into the starting lineup, and taught the split-fingered fastball to all the pitchers on staff.

“Will the Thrill” homered off Nolan Ryan in his first at-bat, and the Giants were in first place for most of the year. On July 17, they led the Astros by two games. Then they hit the road and went 3-9 on a four-city roadtrip. The capper was a three-game Dodgers sweep in Los Angeles, and the Astros ran away with the division.

The next year, it all came together. New general manager Al Rosen made an astute trade midway through 1987, adding starting pitcher Dave Dravecky, workhorse lefty Craig Lefferts and a pudgy third baseman named Kevin Mitchell. They clinched the division in San Diego, as thousands of Giants fans made the trip south to celebrate. It was their first division title since 1971.

In the champagne-soaked clubhouse, Will the Thrill’s legend was cemented. The 23-year-old Clark, in his second season, said on live TV, “I’ve been waiting a loooong time for this. I’ve been to all the fucking amateur ones. Now I’m going to the real one.”

In 1988, the Dodgers answered with an improbable World Series behind Orel Hershiser’s brilliant pitching. Giants-Dodgers history repeated itself again during Hershisher’s record-breaking 59 inning consecutive scoreless streak.

Back in 1968, when Don Drysdale established the record, the streak stayed alive by an umpire’s call in a game against the Giants at Candlestick. In the ninth inning on May 30, the Giants loaded the bases with nobody out. Dick Dietz was hit by a pitch to score a run, but umpire Harry Wendelstedt ruled that Dietz didn’t try to evade the pitch. Given a second chance, Drysdale closed out the game without a run scoring.

In 1988, Hershiser’s streak was at 40 innings when he went to Candlestick on Sept. 23rd. In the third inning, the Giants had runners at first and third with one out. Ernest Riles hit a grounder to second base, but the Dodgers couldn’t turn the double play and a run scored. Except umpire Bob Engel ruled that Brett Butler went out of the baseline to interfere with shortstop Juan Uribe. Riles was called out on the double play, the streak stayed alive, and Hershiser finished with 59 straight.

The Dodgers and Giants traded division titles to close out the decade, but their competition came elsewhere. In 1987, the Dodgers finished 17 games behind the Giants. In 1988, the Giants were 11 ½ games behind the Dodgers.

In 1989, the Dodgers finished 14 games behind the Giants for the division, but they made their rivals sweat the final week. The Giants led the Padres by five games with six games left in the season. They went to Los Angeles for three games … and were swept.

After the final loss, the Giants remained in the visitor’s clubhouse at Dodger Stadium, huddled around TVs and radios to follow the Padres game in San Diego. The Padres tied the game in the bottom of the ninth, adding to the torture. Finally, in the 13^th inning, Eric Davis doubled home a run to take the lead, and Norm Charlton struck out Garry Templeton to end it.

The Giants erupted in celebration, dousing each other with champagne in their rivals’ home. They’d celebrate in San Francisco after beating the Cubs in five games in the NLCS. In their first World Series appearance since 1962, the cross bay Oakland Athletics swept them in four games.

That series, of course, is most remembered for the earthquake before Game Three. For all the angst about Candlestick, and all the attempts to abandon it, the old ballpark withstood the 7.1 magnitude shaking. It swayed, but didn’t crumble.

In 1991, the Braves went from worst-to-first to win the division, but needed help from the Giants on the final weekend. The Dodgers were tied with the Braves entering the final three games … and, once again, were back at Candlestick.

The Giants were 19 games back in the standings, but their season became a success when they won on Friday and Saturday. Couple with two Braves wins, the Dodgers were eliminated. It was just like 1982 for the Giants.

The final year of the Humm Baby era was 1992, and it was the worst combined year for these rivals. The Giants were 72-90, in fifth place, and 26 games behind the first-place Braves. The Dodgers were even worse, finishing 63-99, in last place, and 35 games back.

The rivalry was again on life support. Not so much because the teams were so bad in 1992, but all signs pointed to Bob Lurie moving the Giants to St. Petersburg, Fla.

Chapter Six – Bonds arrives in SF (1993-1997)

Bob Lurie put the Giants up for sale, and Vince Naimoli bought the team with the plan to move the team to Florida. The other baseball owners blocked the purchase and move though.

An 11^th-hour ownership group emerged, led by Peter Magowan, to keep the Giants in San Francisco and preserved this rivalry.

Before the ownership checks were cleared, Magowan announced the signing of Barry Bonds to a six-year contract that made him the highest-paid player in baseball. Other owners were furious, since the sale wasn’t finalized. The new ownership group was just getting started with their Giant makeover.

Dodger legend Dusty Baker, who held Bonds in his arms the day he was born, was promoted from batting coach to manager, despite zero managing experience. Baker hired Bobby Bonds, whose dad coached his youth baseball teams in Riverside, to be the new hitting coach.

For six decades, the Dodgers were known for family ownership and running the team like a family. Now, the Giants looked and felt like a family too.

Magowan’s group made cosmetic changes at Candlestick. They installed new bleachers in left and center field, installed a fog horn to blow after homers, added garlic fries and better cuisine to the menu. In short, they tried to make the dump as bearable as possible, while launching a campaign for a new home.

Bonds homered in his first at-bat at Candlestick and never stopped hitting. He won the Most Valuable Player, in his most all-around complete season as a pro, and the Giants won 103 games. Still, they were tied going into the final game of the season, and once again, the Braves would benefit from this rivalry.  

When deciding who to start the 1993 finale, Dusty Baker thought back to 1980. The players wanted pre-rookie Fernando Valenzuela, who made his debut on Sept. 15 and hadn’t allowed an earned run in 15 2/3 relief innings, to start the one-game playoff against the Astros.

Valenzuela had pitched two innings the day before, and Lasorda went with veteran Dave Goltz instead. Goltz only lasted three innings and the Astros won 7-1 to win the division.

In 1993, Baker trusted a kid named Salomon Torres, instead of a veteran like Dave Burba or Jim Deshaies. It ended in disaster. Torres walked five and gave up three runs in 3 1/3 innings. Mike Piazza hit two home runs off Giants relievers and the final was 12-1.

In what many called “the last true playoff race” because the wild card was starting the next year, the Giants didn’t play in October, despite 103 wins. The Dodgers finished with an 82-82 record, but they gained some revenge from 1982 and 1991.

Bonds’ impact wasn’t just in the batters box, the bases and the outfield. Now there was a certified villain for Dodgers fans to cheer, and they didn’t hold back.

Long-time Dodgers fans believe this is the time when the fan base began to change, for the worse, at Chavez Ravine. The Raiders left Los Angeles after the 1994 season and their fan base migrated across town. Some delicately called it a “rougher” crowd. Others more bluntly thought the “gangbangers” were taking over the formerly safe and laid-back stadium.

The 1994 strike wiped out the World Series, and a likely Giants-Dodgers duel down the stretch. When the season ended, the Dodgers had a 3 ½ game lead, but the Giants were surging. Darryl Strawberry had left LA, he was sober, and the Giants featured a menacing 3-4-5 punch of Bonds, Matt Williams and Straw.

The Giants returned to last place in 1995 and 1996, while the Dodgers went back to the playoffs in consecutive years. They lost in the first round both times, and felt a greater loss when Lasorda was forced to retire due to health reasons midway through the 1996 season.

New general manager Brian Sabean ushered in the best seven-year stretch of Giants history in 1997. It started with a controversial trade that sent the widely popular Williams to Cleveland for four players, including Jeff Kent. Defending himself on the radio, Sabean famously stated, “I’m not an idiot.”

The final two weeks of 1997 was epic. On the morning of Sept. 17, the Giants trailed the Dodgers by two games and hosted their rivals for a two-game series.

 

In the first game, Bonds hit a two-run homer off Chan Ho Park in the first inning, and new closer Roberto Hernandez saved a 2-1 win.

The next afternoon, it was tied in the 10th inning, when disposed closer Rod Beck loaded the bases with none out. Beck struck out Todd Zeile, then retired future Hall of Famer Eddie Murray on a 1-2-3 double play to escape the jam. Beck pitched two more scoreless innings, and Brian Johnson staked his name in Giants lore forever with a walkoff homer in the 12^th.

The standings were tied, but the Giants had the momentum. The Dodgers lost four of the next five. The Giants won six of the next eight, clinching the division on the penultimate day of the season.

It was the first time the Giants won the division, with their storied rival finishing in second place, since 1971. 

As the decade was coming to a close, so too, was the "Dodger Way."

Monday: Chapters 7-8

The LA-SF rivalry -- Chapters 1-4

-- by Josh Suchon

A new chapter in the Dodgers-Giants rivalry starts Monday night at Dodger Stadium when the teams play for the first time in 2012. The transfer of power from thrifty Frank McCourt to the deep-pocketed Guggenheim Baseball ownership group ensures a new chapter in this historic rivalry.

Which chapter is it?

In my opinion, it’s the 11th chapter since the teams moved from New York to California. I’ll provide my unique perspective as somebody who covered the Giants for The Oakland Tribune from 2000-2003, then was the reporter for the Dodgers Radio Network and co-host of Post Game Dodger Talk from 2008-2011.

Since I’m only 38 years old, I won’t try to fake the early chapters with long poetic essays. After all, I wasn’t alive. But the more recent chapters, when I enjoyed a front-row seat, will get longer treatments. We’ll start today with Chapters 1-4, then continue the next few days.

Chapter One – Getting settled in California (1958-1962)

The move from New York to California brought the rivalry across the country. The hatred amongst the players remained, and the new fans bought into it immediately.

These were transition years. The Dodgers played the first four seasons at the LA Coliseum, before moving into Dodger Stadium. The Giants played their first two years at Seals Stadium, before the debut of Candlestick Park.

Each team enjoyed some success. The Dodgers won a World Series in 1959. The Giants beat the Dodgers in an epic three-game playoff to win the 1962 pennant, only to lose to the Yankees in game seven of the World Series.

Chapter Two – the Koufax years (1961-1966)

Yes, chapters sometimes overlap. That's the beauty of writing your own version of history.

Sandy Koufax single-handedly impacted the balance of power more than any other pitcher in this rivalry’s history. Koufax’s six years from 1961-66 were the greatest by any pitcher, and it’s doubtful it will ever be replicated.

Koufax was an all-star all six years, won the Cy Young three times, finished third another year, and also won a Most Valuable Player award. Led by Koufax, the Dodgers appeared in three World Series, won it all in 1963 and 1965, and finished with a better record than the Giants four times in those six years.

Koufax was also on the mound when the ugliest on-field incident in the rivalry took place on August 22, 1965.

A series of brush-back pitches ignited the flames, then Koufax threw a fastball inside to Giants ace Juan Marichal. When catcher John Roseboro’s throw back to Koufax nicked the ear of Marichal, words followed. An enraged Marichal swung his bat and hit Roseboro in the back of the head.

A remorseful Marichal apologized the next day, but was fined $1,750 and suspended eight games. He missed two starts, and the Dodgers finished two games ahead of the Giants. Roseboro sued Marichal, and settled out of court, although the two patched up their differences and later became friends before Roseboro’s death.

Chapter Three – dominated by Red (1967-1976)

Each team had its moments during this nine-year period, but it was mostly dominated by teams wearing red uniforms.

Koufax was forced to retire because of an arthritic left arm after the 1966 season. The Dodgers finished eighth and seventh (out of 10 teams) the next two years, and wouldn’t finish in the upper half of the division again until 1970.

The Giants couldn’t take advantage of life after Koufax. They finished in second place in five straight years, the final two of Koufax’s career and the next three years after he retired.

The Cardinals filled the immediate void after Koufax left, reaching the World Series in 1967 and 1968. When division play began, the Cincinnati Reds dominated. They won the division in 1970, 1972, 1973 and the World Series in 1975 and 1976.

The best year for the rivalry was 1971. The Giants led by 8 ½ games at the start of play on August 30^th, but the Dodgers stormed back into the race. They won five head-to-head meetings in September (and 12 of 18 overall). But the Giants held off their charge, clinching on the final day as Marichal went the distance at San Diego.

It was the Giants first playoff appearance since 1962, but they lost to the Pirates in the division series. That would be the final full season with Willie Mays in San Francisco, and the Giants finished under .500 in five of the next six seasons.

The Dodgers only playoff breakthrough came in 1974, when they won 102 wins to beat the Reds by four games for the division. They beat the Pirates in the NLCS and lost to the A’s in the World Series.

The early-and-mid '70s were a frustrating era for the Dodgers. In the four years before that '74 playoff run, and the two years after, they finished in second place every time. They were good. They were better than the Giants most of the time. But most of the time, the Reds were still best.

Chapter Four -- Tommy takes over (1977-1985)

Tommy Lasorda took over as manager in 1977, and did more to further this rivalry than any other skipper. The ultimate showman, Lasorda’s notorious lines about “The big blue Dodger in the sky” outraged Giants fans and made him a beloved cult figure in Los Angeles.

Lasorda was the ultimate heel at Candlestick. The visitor’s clubhouse was located down the right-field line, requiring a long walk across the field to the third-base dugout. Lasorda was always serenated with boos. Lasorda loved it, played up the rivalry with the fans, ripped the ballpark and the weather, and made the rivalry fun.

More important, Lasorda’s motivation guided the Dodgers to finally get past the Reds in the division. They reached the World Series in 1977 and 1978, were eliminated in a one-game playoff in 1980, won a world championship in strike-shortened 1981, and reached the playoffs in 1983 and 1985.

Of course, Lasorda wasn’t the only person in a Dodgers uniform that was a target. Attendance wasn’t good at Candlestick in these years, but drunken fans would show up when the Dodgers were in town and raise hell.

Reggie Smith went into stands after a 1978 game after a fan threw something at him. Another hoodlum fan attacked the car of the great Vin Scully in the parking lot one night. In 1981, Smith jumped into the stands again, this time in the middle of a game, after Giants fan Michael Dooley threw a souvenir helmet at him. Smith was ejected and Dooley was arrested.

The Giants were essentially a non-factor in this time. Their record was under .500 in six of these nine years, and they never finished above third place.

The 1978 team holds a special place in the hearts of Giants fans because they were in first place for most of the summer. After winning three of four in LA, the Giants were 69-49 on August 14. But they lost 12 of 14 in early September, including four to the Dodgers, and never threatened again.

Symbolic for this time in Giants history, their best year was 1982, when they knocked the Dodgers out of the playoffs on the final day of the season. In the middle of the Giants lineup was Reggie Smith, who signed with the Giants five months after going into the stands to fight a Giants fan.

Often forgotten is the Dodgers eliminated the Giants on the same weekend. The Giants had won 20 of 26 games down the stretch. With three games left, the Giants and Dodgers each trailed the Braves by one game.

Jerry Reuss pitched a three-hit shutout to win the series opener, and with a Braves victory, the Giants were essentially done. A 15-2 drubbing by the Dodgers the next day made it official.

On the season’s final day, the Braves still led the Dodgers by one game, but were losing huge down in San Diego. A one-game playoff was looming if the Dodgers could sweep in San Francisco.

Joe Morgan ended all that. Morgan’s three-run home run in the seventh inning not only snapped a 2-2 tie and was the difference in the 5-3 win, it re-ignited a rivalry that was on life support.

Not only were the Dodgers routinely reaching the playoffs, they were dominating the Giants head-to-head. They went 68-34 against SF from 1977-82.

The “Beat LA” chant was just fairly new at this time. But for long-suffering Giants fans, a new mantra was born: if we can’t make the playoffs, at least beat LA.

The next year, perhaps inspired by this mantra, the 83-loss Giants beat the division-champion Dodgers in 13 of 18 games, including seven of nine at Candlestick. Even during humiliating 96- and 100-loss seasons that followed, the Giants were a respectable 15-21 against the Bums.

The Dodgers fabled infield of Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Bill Russell and Ron Cey was slowly broken up in the early ’80s. But with the farm system producing Steve Sax, Mike Marshall, Greg Brock and Pedro Guerrero, the Dodgers were back in the playoffs in 1983 and 1985.

They lost in the NLCS each time. Still, the Dodgers owned this rivalry, and were the class of the National League. The bigger question was not if the Giants could ever get over on their rivals, it was if they would even remain in San Francisco.

Sunday: Chapters 5 and 6.

Why suicide? You’ll never know

by Josh Suchon

The first time I bought a cell phone was 1999. I was 26 years old. It’s unfathomable to comprehend life without a cell phone. But at the time, it was actually a badge of honor that I held out for so long.

Two years earlier, I nearly bought a cell phone. It was late in the Summer of 1997. I’d just started covering prep sports for The Oakland Tribune, and went down to San Diego to see some college friends before the next school year began. Trying to meet these friends wasn’t as easy as it was when we all lived in the dorms or apartments close to campus. One day, I was at an outdoor mall, saw a cell phone stand, and nearly bought one on the spot. But I was really poor, living paycheck to paycheck, and figured I’d wait for my employer to buy me one.

When I returned to my apartment in the Bay Area suburb of San Ramon, I checked the messages on my answering machine – yes, an answering machine – and heard the frantic voices of my old high school friends.

“Soooosh, call me.”

“Soooosh, something is going on with Coully.”

“Soooosh, where are you? We need you.”

Coully was my high school friend named Jeff Coulthart.

Coully committed suicide when I was on vacation in San Diego.

I missed the whole damn thing. Missed the funeral, missed the burial, missed being a pallbearer, missed the tears, missed the consoling, missed the exchanging of stories, missed the laughs, and missed those discussions that start with “what the hell?” and “why the fuck?”

It would be cliché, and untrue, to say “I think about Coully every day.” He flashes through my mind at weird moments. Certain words or situations prompt an immediate flashback. Re-uniting with my high school buddies usually leads to reminiscing about him. Hearing his name always makes me smile. I’m smiling right now as I type this paragraph.

This week, Coully came to mind for a different reason. Junior Seau committed suicide, a devastating loss to his family, the city of San Diego that considered him an icon, and the entire National Football League.

Millions of beautiful words are being written about Seau. I’d like to share a couple thousand words about my friend Coully.

We met at Foothill High in Pleasanton. Think it was my sophomore year. He was real good friends with my buddy Elliott. We all had a lot in common. None of us had girlfriends. None of us were super popular. None of us had the “traditional” family. All of us loved sports.

The people in our group ebbed and flowed, based on the event, the year, or for no particular reason. The primary crew was all about nicknames. I guess we had a thing for names that started with S. Jeremy was Jerm, and then Slick. Adam was Ad, then Slad. Elliott was El, then sometimes Smell. Coulthart was Coully, or sometimes Slappy. Suchon was Soooosh. Berg was … what the hell was he? I guess he was just Berg.

One of our favorite activities was gambling. Before school. After school. At lunch. On the weekends, when most of our fellow students were at parties, we’d sit around and gamble. It wasn’t the “Cards with the ’Tards” scene from “Can’t Buy Me Love.” But it was pretty close. The money was very real. We didn’t play for nickels and dimes. Looking back, jeez, it’s a miracle we didn’t develop gambling problems, and there was never any blood shed over the outcomes.

We played every sport you can imagine, and invented something called “Pool Ball” that should be an Olympic sport. We played something called “Micro League Baseball” on my dad’s computer, a name that somebody shortened to “Micro” one day, and then Coully shortened to “Vicro” another day. The way he said “Vicro” was so awesome. The name stuck. We all said it like Coully, but Coully’s version was always the best.

We watched sports on TV, and we argued about sports. Oh, did we ever argue about sports.

Coully had the reputation -- deserved or not, it didn’t matter -- for jumping on the bandwagon of whatever team was good. For his birthday in 1990, we bought him a UNLV hat right after they won the national championship in college basketball. Coully loved it. He wore the hat with pride.

My best memories are working with Coully at InFlight, our high school newspaper. He was the graphics editor who laid out the paper. I was the editor in chief who made decision on headlines, story placement, and photos. This was the 1990-91 school year. The computers were old and painfully slow. It took forever. We never finished during school hours. We always stayed late, sometimes extremely late, when the staff adviser was long gone and nobody else was on campus.

Somehow, the faculty adviser trusted me with keys to the building and classroom. I’m sure the administration didn’t know. Sometimes, other students would stay late with us or join us on weekends. Yes, there was some mischief. Of course there was mischief. Usually, it was just me and Coully. There was a ton of hard work, a ton of pride, and a ton of bonding.

We also collected baseball cards. We traded cards and we sold our cards. I vividly recall when Coully and I bought a dealer’s table at a baseball card show in San Francisco. I drove my piece of crap 1978 burnt orange Toyota Cellica to pick him up on a Sunday morning. When he got in the car, it wouldn’t start.

Fearful of us getting stranded in the big city, Coully’s parents changed their plans on the spot. They drove us the hour to San Francisco, explored the city for what was probably 6-7 hours, and drove us the 37 miles back to our hometown of Pleasanton.

Coully’s parents weren’t his biological parents. It was actually his aunt and uncle. They adopted him. I can’t remember the deal with his dad. I recall his mom was a mess, and not really in a position to raise him. His adopted parents loved him, and treated him like their own son.

Most adopted children will tell you it’s not the same. No matter how awesome your adopted parents are, it’s never the same. It’s not their fault. Especially in those formative teen-age high school years, when you start to rebel against all authority figures, the anger toward the biological parents for not being there gets channeled toward the adopted parents who are there for you. It’s not right. But it happens.

Sadly, our group didn’t always help Coully with his inner struggle. We’d say things like, “those aren’t your real parents” and “you don’t have to listen to them.” I’m as guilty as anybody. Everybody in our group had divorced parents, mind you, so similar lines were said about step-mom’s and step-dad’s.

Part of being a guy is “dishing it out” and “being able to take it.” The verbal sparring is a way you test each other. Weaknesses are spotted, and then seized on. Everything is fair game. It’s all fun and games, in theory. You laugh at an uncomfortable topic and it’s not so uncomfortable anymore. Sometimes, those verbal jabs sting. Sometimes, they hurt bad. Usually, the best defense was making fun of yourself first.

Still, I’m not proud of what I said. If I could, I'd take back every word.

I don’t know if Coully’s decision to commit suicide had anything to do with his biological parents not being there. I’m guessing it was a factor, but I have no clue how much of a factor.

That’s the thing about suicide. You don’t know. You’ll never know. You ask yourself “why” over and over and over. Sometimes, they leave a suicide note. Even if they do, it never truly explains “why.”

Not knowing sucks. It just flat-out fucking sucks. We’re used to knowing the answers to all our questions. Nowadays, you can look up the answer to any sports question in less than 60 seconds on your phone. But you can never find out, exactly, why a beloved friend killed himself.

Coully was one year behind me, and the rest of our crew. We all went away in college in the Fall of 1991, and now he needed a new crew for his senior year.

As the theory goes, his new crew was a rougher crowd, more rebellious, not into school at all, more into drinking and into drugs. I don’t know if this is true. We didn’t do drugs. But we drank. We drank too much and did stupid things. I’d like to think we picked our spots wisely on when to drink, made sure we got the important stuff done first, and then cut loose. But that’s subjective. That’s impossible to prove.

I do know this: it makes me feel better, or less guilty, if I can say, “he got mixed up with the wrong group of people.”

Maybe the new set of friends started him on his downward spiral. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Again, we’ll never know.

In the six years between my graduation from high school and his suicide, I’m not sure if I saw him six times. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw him alive. I’ve heard some stories about what happened in those six years, as family and friends tried to piece together what led to his depression, his feeling of helplessness, and his decision to end his own life at age 23.

Sadly, I don’t know any of the details first-hand. We drifted apart. It happens. I drifted apart from almost all of my high school friends, including many others from that group. We lived in different cities and made new friends. It wasn’t easy to stay in touch in those days. This was before cell phones and text messaging and Facebook and Twitter.

Still, that didn’t stop me from beating myself up. What could I have done? What should I have done? The worst part is, at the time when Coully probably needed the most help, it was finally the time in my life that I could have helped.

I’d just moved back to the area. I usually worked 3-11 pm, so I was free in the mornings and early afternoons, and could stay out late because I didn’t have to wake up early. I should have reached out, re-connected. That’s what I told myself.

Maybe it would have helped. Maybe he’d have picked up the phone that fateful final day and asked for my help. Maybe our rekindled friendship would have changed his entire outlook.

Or maybe not. After all, it wasn’t the first time he tried to commit suicide.

Maybe he would have never called me back in the first place to re-connect. Maybe we’d have gotten together, he’d have acted strange, and I’d have blown him off because he was no longer cool enough to hang with me. Maybe we’d have gotten together, everything seemed like the old days, yet that was just his act, and then I’d have been even more shocked when I heard the news.

I’ll never know.

I’ve been told in those final weeks and months, he was reading the bible a lot. Can’t recall him ever going to church or mentioning God ever before. Clearly, he was looking for answers. He’d started writing poetry. One of his poems was titled, “The Good Old Days.” It was about many of these memories that I’ve shared, how much he loved those days, and missed those days. In the poem, he wrote that God would bring him back to those good old days.

These days, I don’t beat myself up. Even though I hate not knowing the answer to anything in life, I’m at peace that I don’t know why he did it, that I never will know, and that no amount of crying or alcohol or soul-searching will ever help me know.

I do know that when I heard about Junior Seau’s suicide, I instantly thought of Coully.

When I watched an amazing documentary called The Bridge, which is about people who commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought of Coully the entire time.

I still shake my head, still in disbelief.

I wonder what type of relationship we’d have now.

Would we be close friends who find a way to see each other in person every few years, even though we live totally different lives in different halves of California? Would we have re-connected on Facebook, looked at each other’s photos, traded a few emails, then gone back to never communicating? Would we constantly text each other during sporting events, no matter where in the world we’re located, because we know the other person is watching too?

Coully reacts to getting a UNLV hat for his birthday.

Would I have bought him a St. Louis Cardinals hat for Christmas and a Kentucky Wildcats hat for his birthday? I don’t know. But that sure did make me laugh. Coully could always make me laugh. Always.

So the next time I’m back in Pleasanton, I’m buying a hat of whatever team just won the most recent championship, and putting it on his grave. Coully would wear it with pride. Only a few people will get the joke. And that’s the point.

Miss you, Coully.

When a chant is more than just a chant

I'm standing 1,619 feet from sea level and wish I'd brought sunglasses. I know it's 1,619 feet because I'm staring down at the official marker. I'm not looking up because if I do the people around me who are taking pictures of the Hollywood Sign might wonder what's wrong.

Linkin Park's “Iridescent” just happened to rotate on my ipod, and now I'm fighting back tears as I hear the following lyrics.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failures all you've known.
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go.
Let it go.

An update ... long overdue

Well, let's see, it's been about eight months since I posted anything on this blog. I figure nobody is really reading it anymore. But just in case you stumbled upon it, here's how the story ended.

I got out of the minors.

I got called back up to the big leagues.

Not doing exactly what I want to do, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. I'm a reporter/talk-show host for KABC-AM in Los Angeles, the flagship radio station for the LA Dodgers. I do segments on the pre- and post-game shows, I co-host PostGame DodgerTalk after every game, I do some radio reports, and I do the Coca-Cola Trivia Quiz in the middle of all games at Dodger Stadium.

It's not play-by-play announcing. But it's back in the majors, and it's hard to turn down an opportunity to live in Los Angeles, and work in the No.2 market in the country. Whether this job proves to be a dead end, or the next step in doing what I really want to do, remains to be seen. If nothing else, I'm living in a fabulous city and my social life is way better.