The one and only Stick. photo taken in June by jjandames.
I was tired beyond belief when the earthquake hit. I had driven up from LA and was on one of the ramps to the upper deck; the shaking knocked me over and the noise overwhelmed me. I told my sister that it must have been a Blue Angels fly-over. "No, it was an earthquake," she said. (My sisters are very nice about not calling me an idiot even when I act like one).
We got to our seats and I had a slim vague hope that they still might play despite the general air of freak-out. But we were right next to the auxiliary press box and as soon as the monitors began working again, they were telecasting the collapsed portion of the Bay Bridge. We all knew at that point that there wasn't going to be a game that night.
As we spent the next 8 hours trying to get back to my sister's house in the East Bay, we mostly worried about her hubby having been on the road at 5:04 p.m. It turned out that he had already made it home, given how extra-light the traffic was when it hit. It's always struck me how fortunate it was that it was the A's and Giants that were about to play -- a circumstance that may have limited the number of cars that were damaged when the freeways fell down in the East Bay.
And I found myself reflecting more than a few times about how the Stick -- the much-derided Stick, the laughingstock of MLB parks -- had managed to survive this massive earthquake. For all its faults, it was at least built strong enough to withstand a 7.4 quake.
So looking back, I feel mostly lucky, even at this remove.