Mister Padre’s long walk home

15 July 2001
PADRES 5, ANGELS 1

ANAHEIM — The Posse converged on Edison Field for an interleague tilt, the highlight of which was the ongoing farewell to Tony Gwynn. Next stop: Cooperstown.

Walt and I took the train up from San Diego. Anaheim's Amtrak station is right in the stadium parking lot, even closer to the stadium than some of the parking spaces. Very civilized, other than the drunks on the train for the return trip.

We met Jay and Irene for garlic fries and hefeweizen at Gordon Biersch before the game. In the stadium, the fans all paid their respects. Gwynn replied with a tip of the cap and a few gracious words.

This was supposed to be a clebration of and for Tony Gwynn, but it neither looked nor felt like a joyous occasion. Far from it, in fact. And this forlorn exercise was being repeated every few days in ballparks around the country, as Major League Baseball seemed determined to bang the drum slowly — agonizingly slowly — for “Mister Padre.”

By the time the “So Long, Tony” train rolled into Anaheim, Gwynn’s own body language seemed to say, "Enough! Just let me go!"

Rickey Henderson, by now a Padre, was inserted for Tony after Gwynn drew a walk. A wonderful bit of irony, that — one eventual Hall of Fammer being lifted for another.

Even at retirement age, Rickey was their fastest player still by far. That is either a tribute to Rickey’s tremendous athleticism, or a scathing indictment on the Padres’ roster of lumbering leadfoots.

After that, a spin through a mall auto dealership specializing in classic cars — Jaguar XK-Es, 1930 postal trucks, a Cadillac Coupe de Ville the size of an aircraft carrier, even a towable Coke machine with a drogue parachute fixed to the back (never did get an explanation of that…).

For Walt's son, Geoff, this was his second Posse run, which makes him a full–fledged Posse member. He’s already taller than me, well on his way to being a seven–footer and a gleam in the eye of college basketball scouts.