Flashes

The Flash, an inveterate jet-setter, streaked to the Bay Area last weekend to watch the Arizona Diamondbanks clinch the National League West pennant and suffer through yet another stupefying performance by Arizona State University’s football team.

Donning two sweat shirts and a wool hood, the Flash went to 3Com Park, née Candlestick, for the blustery Friday evening game. The incessant wind and cold have always been more formidable than any Giant named Willie, so there will be no reason to shed a tear over the Giants’ departure next year to Pacific Bell Park, where Giant faithful stand to be royally reamed in baseball’s newest cash-milking stadium.

Poppa D-Bank Jerry Colangelo watched Friday’s game from behind the Diamondbanks’ dugout and was a little choked up over the magnitude of what had been accomplished in the Diamondbanks’ second year. Jer just can’t believe his “expansion” franchise won the pennant so fast.

It’s amazing what money can do. In just five years, Jerry has managed to spend more than $625 million of taxpayer and investors’ money to finally bring a winner to town.

Once Matt Williams made the putout that sealed the West, Jerry exchanged hugs and kisses with his wife. His entourage of geeky accountants and marketers, and their appropriately accessorized wives, mimicked Jer.

The crew was escorted across the dugout roof and onto the field to join mildly excited ballplayers celebrating around pitching ace Randy Johnson. Giant management, which claims to hold no grudges against the upstart DBanks, never did announce that Arizona had just won the division.

Instead, the message from the PA was that a huge farewell-to-the-stadium fireworks show was imminent. Just coincidence that the sky lit up above the ‘Stick the night the D-Banks came to town and whipped the homeboys 11-3 to gain a playoff slot.

Meanwhile, back in Phoenix, the shills on the sports talk shows lamented what they view as a lack of genuine community enthusiasm for the D-Banks’ amazing feats. What the D-Bankers fail to recognize or acknowledge is that many Maricopans quietly root against Jerry’s kids, because of the way Bank One Ballpark was rammed down the throats of the taxpayers. Anybody who knows anything about baseball recognizes that this is a fine baseball team. Anybody who knows anything about democracy, and holds it dear, might be pulling for the Reds or Astros or Braves or Mets.

The fireworks by the Bay were framed by the back window of a Muni bus as it pulled out of the ‘Stick’s parking lot and began wending toward the freeway. San Francisco’s much ballyhooed public transit system provided plenty of amusement, consternation and a little disgust for the Flash during this sports adventure weekend.

Yes, there are a lot of buses. And yes, you can get where you want to go. But how, when and whether you’d witness riots by mutinous Muni riders added an air of uncertainty to every excursion. The city’s subway system is showing its age; ticket machines are frequently broken, making it difficult to get on a train even when one is running.

The Muni bus system is a major issue in the mayoral campaign in which both candidates have higher negative than positive ratings going into November’s election. The San Francisco Examiner headline Sunday: “Muni still stinks.”

Doesn’t the Flash know it!

A so-called “express” bus sat idling diesel fuel for one hour outside the ‘Stick after a Sunday afternoon game. The driver announced that Muni failed to send enough buses to the park, so the bus would have to wait until thousands of baseball fans finished running around the bases inside the ‘Stick, just in case a couple of them wanted to ride the bus home.

Only a spontaneous round of “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” averted a hijacking and certain dismemberment of the hefty driver.

Later, the Flash waited for a bus with a chap who had attended a big leather festival. The chap was wearing chaps, with only a Gstring underneath. His bulbous buttocks were on broad display. Upon realizing that this bare posterior would caress the bus’s seats, the Flash decided to walk.

The only thing scarier than public transit was the ASU football team. After getting whipped last week by New Mexico State, ASU decided simply to forfeit the game to California. Well, the Done Devils did play, but bonehead mistakes and lousy execution left them with their second loss, 24-23.

The debacle was highlighted by disastrous play by the special teams. ASU’s punter shanked a five-yard punt to the ASU 14 to set up California’s first touchdown. Later, an extra point was blocked, leaving the Done Devils with a 23-14 lead with about 10 minutes to go.

It was all Cal from there.

Playing in an ancient bowl-shaped stadium cut into the side of a hill beneath a stand of giant eucalyptus trees, the Cal band whipped up the crowd as a team loaded with freshmen rammed home a touchdown and a field goal to go up by one with seven minutes to play.

Cal tried to give the game back to ASU with a minute to play, fumbling the ball at midfield. But the Done Devils misfired and the game ended with an interception.

Dejected ASU players silently marched to their decrepit locker room after the game. Athletic director Kevin White, looking downcast even in his dapperness, brought up the rear.

Longtime Tribune sportswriter Bob Moran shook his head after the game. Moran’s assessment: “That was bad.”

Moran was too gracious.

This team will be lucky to go 4-7.

Let the Bruce Snyder unemployment watch begin.

Picketer’s Charge