Unbelievable? That was 19 years ago (literally)

There are a few words for which their misuse should be classified as a misdemeanor offense. "Literally" is one of those words. During last month's NCAA basketball playoffs alone we heard from fans who were literally pulling their hair out, coaches literally going to the ends of the earth and players who were literally killing themselves. Okay, i'll say it once. The word these laureates should be using is not "literally" but rather, "figuratively". I know it loses a bit of drama, as the term also carries its fair share of emphasis. But "figurative" is accurate at least. And it would avoid those annoying defamation lawsuits. I mean, who wants a judge literally throwing the book at them? Especially one of those Harry Potter hardcovers, that could leave a mark.

Another word is "unbelievable". As in an unbelievable catch, the unbelievable shot, that unbelievable comeback. It's gotten so ridiculous that I recently heard an unnamed hack announcer use it in his reaction to--wonder of wonders--a ground out to third. The third baseman, a Golden Glove-winning third baseman to be exact, doing what he's been trained to do, and what he's being paid UNBELIEVABLE amounts of money to do. Stop a sharp grounder and cross the diamond with a 120-foot dart of a throw before the batter completes his 90-foot sprint to first. Exciting? Sure. Unbelievable? It's not even unlikely he'll execute the play. If getting that runner out is such an unbelievable feat, then why, if his throw was slightly off the bag and got past the first baseman, would he get an error on the play? Why wouldn't his face be emblazened on the Jumbotron with a "Thanks for the try!" super?

Unbelievable isn't doing something you're supposed to do. It isn't even doing something amazing, short of walking from a wheelchair and doing a Gregory Hines tap number. The '69 Mets, the 1980 Olympic hockey team beating the mighty Soviet Union, George Mason reaching the Final Four, these are admirable examples of unbelievable in its correct usage.

But there's one event during my lifetime where the word "unbelievable" proved to be a downright understatement.

Few times in the history of Major League Baseball do two teams from the same state wind up facing each other in the World Series. We saw it in the days of the Yankees, Brooklyn Dodgers and New York baseball Giants. (Okay, I didn't literally see it since my father's seed was years away from planting itself in me mumsy. But I have watched the black-and-white footage... and boy did they move fast back then by the way. But I digress.) In my lifetime it had yet to happen before 1985, with the I-70 matchup between Kansas City and St. Louis. But the fact that the Royals and Cardinals were from the same state didn't resonate all that much: first, because the cities were still 300 miles apart; and second, because 50% of any survey you take believes that Kanssas City is in Kansas. Even if you poll residents of Michigan City, Indiana.

The first true neighborhood battle for baseball's crown occurred four years later. We expected the Oakland A's to be there. They were supposed to have crushed those poor Los Angeles Dodgers until hobbled outfielder Kirk Gibson's ninth-inning pinch-hit home run in game 1 (yes, that was unbelievable, since he could barely walk and it was his only at-bat of the series) led to an equally unbelievable upset. We knew the A's, with Jose Can't-Single and that whisp of a bean sprout named Mark McGuire, would appear in the Fall Classic with Don Rickles-at-a-Dean Martin-Roast frequency. But the Will Clark-led San Francisco Giants, now that was a surprise.

Permit me a bit of back story here, as it is my blog. During my final years of college in the mid-1980s my roommate J.R. and I got hooked on college baseball, particulary the College World Series, held annually at Rosenblatt Stadium in Omaha, Nebraska. ESPN had committed itself to covering the college game quite well. The teams that mattered most were the evil Texas Longhorns with their ace, Roger Clemens; those great teams Ron Fraser of Miami and Mike Martin of Florida State brought to Omaha, and my adopted Wildcats from Tucson, Jerry Kindall's University of Arizona baseball team, who smoked the favored Seminoles 11-2 to win the 1986 national championship (not unbelievable but cool as hell for me). Clemens, Robin Ventura, Paul Sorrento, Greg Swindell, Pete Incaviglia, Greg Ellena and the like were everyday names to us, and we soon knew the world would catch on once they turned pro. One player in particular we thought had it all--fielding, hitting, personality, clutch performances, you name it. A latter-day Steve Garvey figure from Mississippi State by the name of Will Clark, a standout on a lineup with names like Rafael Palmiero and Bobby Thigpen which in itself is an impressive feat (though not technically unbelievable).

In the late 1980s we saw the growing effect of college baseball as it spread into the majors. 1988 saw Clemens strike out 20 batters in Tiger Stadium. And one year later, Will Clark would drive his team to the grand stage of all grand stages, the World Series.

So San Fran and Oakland were heading for a NoCal Knockdown. This for the first time in decades was a true war of neighbors, two metropolitan areas separated only by bay and bridge. An entire World Series would take place within a 20-mile radius. That's not the unbelievable part. The A's winning the first two games at home wasn't unbelievable, either. What happened two days later, however, I still don't believe today.

During the pregame show for Game 3, with the entire community abuzz and the world's eyes upon the Bay Area, at precisely 5:04pm, 26 minutes before the first pitch and moments after ABC signed on for its network broadcast, the single greatest earth quake our nation has experienced in generations struck San Francisco, knocking the network off the air for minutes, each of which lasting an hour. When power was restored to the ABC broadcast truck--first the audio feed and eventually the full video signal--the announcing crew broke news of the quake to the televised world while players mulled about the field locating their families, while cameras hung over the highest points of Candlestick Park to capture the immediate chaos outside, while the Goodyear blimp floated peacefully overhead, able to zero in on every plume of smoke in sight, ultimately discovering the tragic collapse of the pancake-stacked I-280 bridge.

The nation's worst earthquake in half a century, occurring at the precise time and location of the first World Series among neighboring cities in decades, is not merely unbelievable. It's absolutely astounding. I thought about it this morning and still don't believe it actually happened. It's right up there with Randy Johnson's fastball killing a wayward seagul during a preseason game, at the top of the "unbelievable" scale. But just slightly more significant.