Past Blaster

Saturday night.

We finally found the Porridge King in Daly City that we've been intending to visit for the better part of a year. Peking Duck, or duck in any form, tends to exert a magnetic pull on me. Porridge exerts a similar pull on Junko. Tonight's surprise was how much I liked the porridge, which reminds me of southern grits, another of my cullinary favorites. (Oh, I wish I had some boiled peanuts tonight.)

The porridge we ordered had some shredded duck and also pieces of black duck eggs. Yummy.

I was only one of two white people in the place, as Junko gleefully noted. An Asian treasure this place. Our dinner bill (with three entrees) was $22.85.

Back home, when I turned on my TV what popped up was a classic baseball channel, and the game being played was a Giants-Padres game in 1987. Suddenly there was number 22, Will Clark, my older kids' hero and the player who made me a Giants' fan. Clark had the sweetest swing of anybody of his era.

Peter was only six and hadn't yet started his own little league career. Two years later, Clark led the Giants into the only Bay Bridge Classic ever played -- a World Series between the A's and the Giants.

The Loma Prieta earthquake interrupted that series and rendered it irrelevant, as we collectively recovered from a massive case of shock. But tonight, all of that was still in the future. It was Will's second season, and his play helped his team clinch the NL West (there were but two divisions then.)

What shocked me was what a simple world it was 21 years back. No ads behind home plate. No fancy camera angles. Skinny bodies on the players; clearly not yet any steroids in the mix.

Pure talent mattered. A good eye, a fantastic swing, an aggressive attitude really mattered. To all of us, Will Clark mattered.

Thanks, Will the Thrill.

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