Word: candlestick
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WHILE THE SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS WERE IN THE ARIzona desert working off their winter flab, back home in Candlestick Park a little bit of history was unfolding. Five hundred candidates turned up for open auditions to become the team's new stadium announcer, but none of the dozens of experienced sports broadcasters vying for the plum platform got the nod. Instead the Giants will start a rookie -- a legal secretary from Walnut Creek, California. On opening day, April 5, Sherry Davis will become the first woman ever to be a full-time pro baseball announcer. The pay: $75 a game...
...whistlestop appearance at the Harvard Book-store to promote her latest novel, The Children of Men. The audience of elderly ladies indulged the Baroness in her readings from the book, but clearly considered her apocalyptic sci-fi vision as an eccentric deviation from James' standard country-house butler and-candlestick whodunnit. When question and time rolled around, the crowd voiced their concerns about the suspension of the Commander Adam Dalgliesh detective series: would James please revert to her comfortable, tried and tested subject and style...
Dallas got a taste of that on a January afternoon in San Francisco's Candlestick Park back in '82, when the hometown 49ers upset the mighty Cowboys 28-27 in the N.F.C. championship game. The grainy replays still haunt the faithful: Joe Montana throwing in the final minute, Dwight Clark leaping in a corner of the end zone, then "the Catch" that propelled the 49ers to the top of the N.F.L. pyramid -- a position they were to hold, more or less, through much of the subsequent decade...
...gorgeous Blues Sister reclines on a couch and smokes cigars with two Hollywood Producers. "I love a good cigar," she says with an insouciantly arched eyebrow. I must be trapped in the Clue boardgame. Someone is sure to turn up dead in the billiard room, soon, next to a candlestick. The DJ switches to Frank Sinatra. It's 5 am. Time to leave...
...other evening, three guys ran across Candlestick Park brandishing a bed- sheet sign that read PLEASE DON'T GO! Stung by the announced sale of the San Francisco Giants to a consortium representing St. Petersburg, Florida, these three were exercising the birthright of any sports devotee: impotent pleading. This was the charge of the night brigade. But the trio might as well have been riding into the Valley of Death instead of invading the blustery pasture of America's crankiest ball park. The people who buy the tickets, whose taxes pay for the stadiums, who fantasize and fret over their...