Features

Nine Bars in Nine Innings

By JEFF PLUNKETT Special to the Planet
Friday October 10, 2003

On Monday night the Oakland A’s played the Boston Red Sox in the final baseball game of their American League Division Series. A win moved them one step closer to a World Series title; a loss ended the season. It was a big game. I wondered if Oakland’s playoff fever stretched north to Berkeley. 

Part pub-crawl, part census report, my approach was simple: nine Berkeley bars in nine innings. I wanted to know the whereabouts of Berkeley’s hardcore baseball fans.  

1st Inning: Triple Rock Brewery and Alehouse 

Baseball aficionados applaud the first pitch of a game, especially during the playoffs. At Triple Rock, though, the first pitch provokes not a sound. Strike one.  

“Some A’s fans were in here earlier,” says Annie, the bartender. “They said they were going to the game and told me to meet them at their white Subaru in the parking lot.” 

With a total of six people in the bar, I consider heading for the Subaru. Luckily, though, the inning speeds by. And before Annie can offer me another pickled egg, I’m out the door and peddling south on Shattuck. 

2nd Inning: Beckett’s Irish Pub and Restaurant 

If Beckett’s owners hoped to recreate a classic Irish pub, they succeeded. It’s dark, there are lots of men, and nobody gives a damn about baseball. A projector TV screens a Monday Night Football pre-game show. A smaller TV towards the back airs the ballgame. A young man with glasses sits alone watching it. 

I approach and ask, “Did you come to watch the A’s?” 

“Nope,” he says, “I came to drink a Guinness.” His hand grips a half-finished pint.  

Disheartened by the lack of fans, I shove my notebook aside and order myself a beer. But even this decision backfires. It’s another quick inning and as I chug the remainder of the glass, Guinness-boy asks, “Does your writing get better or worse as the game goes on?”  

3rd Inning: The Bear’s Lair 

From Shattuck, I bike east on Bancroft to The Bear’s Lair, the lone bar on campus. It’s a mellow crowd, but a crowd nonetheless. I notice a group of young men huddled around one TV in a corner. I’m convinced this is an A’s crew. Wrong again. These are participants in the Madden 2004 tournament, a football video game for Play Station 2.  

Hope is not lost, though. There are a few students donning A’s hats. David Ha, a fourth year student from San Jose, is one of them. An A’s fan all his life, he decided to skip his political science class in order to watch the game. Finally, a young man with his priorities in order.  

“This is game five,” Ha says. “You can’t miss game five.”  

I agree, and after another scoreless inning, head towards Durant.  

4th Inning: Henry’s in the Hotel Durant 

The half-filled bar contains a handful of diehards. As Boston leads off the inning with an infield hit, I hear moans from a table nearby. Tim Wortham, 35, and Robert Wong, 37, are sharing a pitcher of beer and a basket of hot wings drenched in sauce. Crumpled napkins lay scattered on the table.  

The last time they watched a ballgame together was Game 6 of last year’s World Series, when San Francisco lost to the Anaheim Angels.  

“We’re trying to reverse fortune,” says Wortham, a San Francisco resident, who—not surprisingly—didn’t want to talk about his Giants’ playoff performance this year.  

“The A’s can’t lose three straight—there’s no way,” says Wong, from Berkeley. 

“Unless it’s against the Yankees,” ribbed Wortham.  

Moments later, the duo is pounding on the bar, celebrating the A’s first run of the game. The score: A’s 1, Red Sox 0.  

5th Inning: La Val’s Pizza 

La Val’s is packed—and all chairs face the big-screen TV. Folks are drinking beer, screaming at the umpire, and drinking more beer. This is playoff fever. I feel like I’m in the bleachers. The crowd explodes as A’s centerfielder Chris Singleton throws a Boston runner out at second base.  

“I had old school parents that took me to the games,” says Ken Washington, 48, an Oakland fan since the early 70s and one of the crowd’s more vocal leaders.  

Washington used to be homeless and said LaVal’s always treated him with respect. So he’s loyal to the Durant hangout.  

“You know, the north side of Berkeley has everything we got over here, but it’s quieter. This is the south side,” he says proudly. “We watch a lot of Raider games here, too.”  

I believe him. And, as the inning ends, I fight the urge to ditch the article and grab a bleacher seat at La Val’s.  

6th Inning: Kip’s 

Disaster strikes in the 6th inning. The Red Sox score four runs. And I chose Kip’s, where the TVs nearly outnumber the patrons 

At one point, after Manny Ramirez’s homerun, Fox’s television coverage flashes to a packed bar in Boston. I’m envious and wonder if the words “nostalgia” and “La Val’s” have ever been used in the same sentence.  

Eric, one of Kip’s’ bartenders, has just taken a break to eat some chicken fingers. Sitting down next to me at the bar, Eric claims he’s an A’s fan. But I’m not seeing the pain. He’s enjoying those chicken fingers a bit too much.  

Fortunately, Oakland picks up one run in the bottom of the 6th. The score: A’s 2, Red Sox 4.  

7th Inning: Blake’s 

The A’s retire the Red Sox 1-2-3 in the top of the 7th. I am at Blake’s, a busy Telegraph Avenue bar.  

In the bottom half of the inning, Boston’s Johnny Damon and Damian Jackson collide while chasing a pop fly. (Damon starred for Oakland in 2001.) Immediately, I hear clapping from the bar’s balcony. Investigating, I find an unsympathetic pocket of A’s fans crowded into the small room. 

“If you leave Oakland for a punk-ass team like Boston, you get what you deserve,” says Justice Israel, 21, one of Blake’s bartenders. The playoffs can make people nasty, especially when their team is losing. It’s the misplaced anxiety of the true fan. I love it.  

8th Inning: Raleighs 

The A’s are down 4-2 with two innings left. The first guy I try to interview won’t even make eye contact with me. That’s a good sign.  

David Orlando, 48, summed up Raleighs this way: “Good crowd, good beers…it’s close.” His first A’s memory was an inside-the-park home run Reggie Jackson hit to win a game in the early 70s. He’s been a fan ever since.  

The bar looks like the waiting room at a maternity ward: lots of stressed out men hoping for good news. When McMillon singles to right, the A’s score to make it 4 to 3, and the bar jumps to life. Strangers high-fiving strangers. People yelling, “One more! One more!” 

But the run doesn’t come. And when Boston makes the final out of the inning, the energy of the bar deflates. Heads shake. Brows get massaged. It’s a nine-inning roller coaster of emotions, and the ride ain’t over.  

“It’s close,” says Orlando. “Don’t count them out yet.” 

9th Inning: White Horse Inn 

The legendary White Horse is known for many things; baseball is not one of them. But the game is being shown on a projector TV at the back of the bar. And for the handful of people watching, the 9th inning mesmerizes.  

In storybook-fashion, the bases end up loaded with two outs and a full count to Terrence Long. An entire season boils down to one game, one inning, one at-bat, and—finally—one pitch. And then the A’s lose. And that’s it. Season over.  

“I’m taking all the stickers off my truck,” shouts bartender, Mara Pelaez, 36. “I need a new team.” 

Despite Pelaez’s anger, the White Horse Inn does not dwell on the loss. Just moments after the final pitch, the TV screen flashes blue, lyrics appear, and a pudgy, older man starts singing.  

And while Berkeley didn’t prove to be the greatest baseball town—I had to agree—there’s nothing more cathartic than karaoke.  

 

Final Score: A’s 3, Red Sox 4.