Opinion: Spending 9/11 at Tony Gwynn's house was just the beginning of this reporter's fall 2001 MLB journey
Ever wonder how a sports writer can end up with 50 pairs of underwear and an extra suitcase on a single road trip?
I traveled to San Diego in September 2001 for a week-long road trip to write about Tony Gwynn’s Hall of Fame career coming to an end weeks later.
It was early Tuesday morning, the 11th, when the phone rang in my hotel room at the Mission Valley Marriott near Qualcomm Stadium. I groggily reached for the phone, answered, and it was a friend from Atlanta.
“Did you hear what happened in New York?’’ she breathlessly said. “A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center.’’
OK, I figured someone accidentally crashed their private plane, thanked her for the call, and went back to sleep.
The phone rang 15 minutes later.
A second plane crashed, into the South Tower of the World Trade Center.
This time, I stayed away, glued to the TV set like the rest of America.
Commissioner Bud Selig postponed all 15 games that day, extended the postponements until Friday, and then again for three more days until Sept. 17.
Sitting in my hotel room that morning contemplating what to do, the phone rang.
It was Gwynn. He knew that I had traveled into town to do a cover story.
He asked how I was doing, inquired if I needed anything, and if I still wanted to do a story, invited me to swing by his house in nearby Poway.
Gwynn greeted me at the door with blue shorts, a gray shirt, and an orange cap. He plopped down on the recliner in his living room. And we talked. And talked. And talked. There was no better talker in baseball than Gwynn. There may never have been a better person, either.
“It’s just unbelievable what happened,’’ Gwynn said, with the TV set on in the room. “You see it over and over, and still can’t believe it. Life as we knew it before, is over. Life is going to change. And now that it’s going to change, you want to be in a little more control in your life.’’
The world did change overnight.
Security heightened at the airports. Friends and family could no longer escort you to the gate or await your arrival when you got off the plane. Metal detectors were installed at ballparks and bomb-sniffing dogs became regulars in the clubhouse.
The cover story: “Mr. Padre: Sweet-Swinging Tony Gwynn closes out a Hall of Fame career’’ was written that week and now with flights resuming, it was up to editorsto decide what my next move was.
Well, the San Francisco Giants were resuming the season at home. Barry Bonds had hit three homers on Sunday against the Rockies in Colorado, and was sitting at 63 home runs.
The office suggested staying West an extra week. Why not catch the Giants in San Francisco for their three-game series against the Houston Astros, follow the Giants back to San Diego, and then go home.
It sounded like a logical plan. Bonds hit his 64th homer in the series finale against the Astros, went homerless in his first two games in San Diego, but, oh-oh, in the final game of the series, hit two more homers for 66.
He needed just four more homers in the last 12 games to tie Mark McGwire for the single-season record.
“Uh, you mind staying on the Bonds watch?’’
I covered the rest of the Giants’ season. I watched Bonds tie McGwire’s record with his 70th in his final at-bat in Houston. The Giants returned home, and Bonds responded by hitting two homers off Los Angeles Dodgers starter Chan Ho Park for the home run record, sending a sellout crowd into hysterics.
Bonds pinch-hit and singled in Game 161, but in the regular season finale, added one more to the record books by homering off Dodgers starter Dennis Springer in the first inning, culminating in one of the greatest seasons in history.
Bonds hit .328 with 73 homers, 137 RBI, a .515 on-base percentage, league-leading .863 slugging percentage, 1.379 OPS and 259 walks.
Meanwhile, Gwynn spent the final day of his career in San Diego pinch-hitting against the Colorado Rockies. He finished the season hitting .324, his 19th consecutive season hitting at least .300. Six years later, he and Cal Ripken Jr. were inducted together into the Hall of Fame.
The regular season now over, it was time for the playoffs. It was off to Arizona and St. Louis for the National League Division Series. It was Atlanta and Arizona in the NLCS. And then the World Series between the Diamondbacks and New York Yankees.
This dramatic series featured George Bush throwing out the first pitch before Game 3 at Yankee Stadium, two extra-inning games, and three comebacks. It ended in Game 7 on the night of Nov 4, the latest World Series Game in history. Diamondbacks outfielder Luis Gonzalez hit a walk-off single off closer Mariano Rivera, ending the Yankees’ great dynasty.
Finally, after 56 consecutive days on the road, I was going home.
And taking along perhaps the most pair of underwear ever stuffed in a suitcase.
You see, it was not only more convenient, but cheaper to simply buy packs of underwear instead of having the hotel launder them.
So I kept buying and buying, two packs at a time. Before I knew it, I had an entire suitcase full of dirty drawers, hoping some pour soul at TSA didn’t actually have to open the bag when I landed in Minneapolis.
Yep, it was that kind of season, one I’ll never forget as long as I live.
And, you know what, Gwynn was absolutely right.
Life did completely change.
We’ll all be reminded of it again Saturday, when the Yankees and Mets play at Citi Field, on the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
I’ll be in New York, and bringing along a few pair of clean underwear, including a pair or two, as much as I hate to admit, just might be 20 years old.