LOS ANGELES — The greatest moment in Los Angeles sports history very nearly didn't happen.
Oct. 15, 1988, was the date and the Dodgers were hosting Game 1 of the World Series, decided underdogs to the mighty Oakland A's. Many experts were picking the A's to sweep the series, while some said the Dodgers might win one because Orel Hershiser was pitching Game 2. Hershiser — the eventual 1988 National League Cy Young Award winner — was in the midst of one of the greatest streaks a pitcher ever had, including 59 consecutive scoreless innings to end the regular season. Further hampering the Dodgers' chances for their first World Series win since 1981, the soon-to-be-elected 1988 NL MVP Kirk Gibson was said to be unavailable for the game due to various leg injuries that left him barely able to walk.
The opener seemed to be an utter mismatch, with 21 game winner Dave Stewart on the mound for Oakland against rookie right-hander Tim Belcher. Stewart had just finished the second of four straight seasons of 20-plus wins — leading the AL with 14 complete games. The A's also had baseball's best closer Dennis Eckersley ready if a save was necessary. Eck recorded 45 of them during the regular season.
While Belcher had a good year for the Dodgers, going 12-6, smart money had Stewart and the 104-win Athletics coming away victorious. By the end of one-and-a-half innings, Oakland had a 4-2 lead, courtesy of Jose Canseco's grand slam, and the predictions looked to be on point. The Dodgers added a solo run in the bottom of the sixth, but the A's were in good shape as "Eck Time" approached.
Gibson was told by team doctors that he shouldn't play at all, as even pinch-hitting could aggravate the injuries and cause them to become career-threatening. The damage was so bad, the medical staff couldn't even pinpoint the actual causes of the massive pain. But the free-agent signee from the Detroit Tigers would have none of it, preparing for one at-bat if the Dodgers could get to Eckersley and put themselves in a position where one swing could win the game.
"Everybody was saying all day that I wouldn't play," Gibson remembered, "but they didn't know what drove me. Those kinds of situations — when people doubted me — were exactly the kind I loved to be in. When I heard people say that I wouldn't play, the adrenaline started flowing and I knew if I could just get the right pitch in the right situation, it could turn everything around."
Dodgers' manager Tommy Lasorda was as pessimistic as anyone else when it came to his big gun taking a swing in any game of the '88 Series, especially Game 1.
"Sure, I was hoping he could play, but I sure wasn't counting on it," Lasorda said. "For Christ's sake, he could hardly walk — how was he going to swing a bat or run the bases?"
The manager must have been counting on Gibson a little more than he will admit, though, because after every inning he went to Gibson — under the stands trying to work himself into shape for one at-bat — and asked him if he could give it a shot.
"He told me no," said Lasorda. "So I thought that was that, and we'd have to do it without him." Then, the legendary Vin Scully said Gibson was not going to play, and that was all the motivation Gibby needed.
History was starting to take shape.
"Every time I took a swing, the pain was brutal," Gibson related, "but I just tried to forget about it and convince myself that when I walked onto the field, the crowd would go crazy, the adrenaline would flow and it wouldn't hurt."
Gibson sent Mitch Poole, the Dodgers' current clubhouse manager, but then a ball boy, up the dugout ramp to summon Lasorda. "I saw Tommy waddle down the ramp and told him I was ready if he wanted me to go," Gibson said. "Tommy said 'damn right' and I started to get dressed."
Lasorda also made what turned out to be the best strategic move of the postseason. He told Gibson to stay in the tunnel where no one could see him, and the A's wouldn't realize he was available. With two outs, Dave Anderson — never known as a dangerous hitter — was in the on-deck circle, while Mike Davis was at the plate. Eckersley, fooled into thinking he could get Anderson easier than the left-handed hitting Davis, walked the former Oakland outfielder and set the stage for Gibson's heroics.
LA scout Mel Didier had told Gibson that if Eckersley got to a 3-2 count, he would definitely throw a backdoor slider. Eck complied, and with Didier's words ringing in Gibby's ears, he extended his arms and basically ended the 1988 World Series.
The Dodgers won the game 5-4, with reliever Alejandro Pena — whom Gibson pinch hit for — picking up the win, while Eck took the loss. "What can I say?" said Eck. "I threw a s----- pitch and it cost us the game." And in all likelihood, the Series.
Momentum jumped to the Dodger dugout and the Boys in Blue won in five games.
Gibson never had another World Series at-bat, the Dodgers haven't won it all since that magical, improbable year of 1988, and no one knows what happened to the ball Gibson launched into the right field pavilion — and the history books.
I was covering the game for KFI Radio in Los Angeles and the Associated Press Radio Network, and was in the media workroom, ready to file my report on the Dodgers 4-3 loss to Oakland in Game 1. I saw Gibson take his swing — then the TV went blank. Nothing but snow, making me probably the only person at Dodger Stadium that night who didn't see the homer go into the right field pavilion.
I was also the only person to do an interview with Gibson while he was taking a shower!
Up until 1989 reporters had access to the trainer's room and all adjoining areas. While I was walking near the training facility trying to find the man of the moment for an interview, I heard a voice.
"Joe, get your fat (rear end) over here," Gibson said, laughing. I turned to see Gibby all lathered up with a towel wrapped around his waist. He was trying to get a few minutes away from the horde of journalists who would proceed to question him for the next hour — once he finished his shower. He asked me if I wanted to get my interview done before he went back in the clubhouse. I did. And when I was finished, I shook his hand in congratulations and said "That was awesome."
Gibson looked as if he was in another place, in another time, before he snapped back to reality.
"Yeah, it was pretty neat, wasn't it?" Gibson said.
Pretty neat, indeed.
Especially since it almost never took place.
