FoundSF

Historical Essay

by Matt Sieger

Vallejo resident Matthew Ceryes was a security guard at Pac Bell Park (which became SBC Park in 2004) from 2003-2005. He had a bird’s-eye view of the inside goings-on at both the home and visiting clubhouses and came away with some great stories.

Here’s one of them, as told by Ceryes:

I never let a Giant open the clubhouse door himself. This was my own personal policy. Sometimes the more exuberant of the team “exploded” our double doors outward on the way to the field.

Guys were re-entering all the time needing anything from a soda to a rubdown and I didn’t want our starting pitcher to go on the DL (called IL, now) because his right hand got blown up reaching for the handle.

We in security, however, quickly identified a more insidious threat — spikes on concrete.

Pac Bell uses scarce waterfront and wastes nothing, leaving incomparable views. But it also made unintended safety problems.

One was corrected only this year in the park’s 21st season when foul territory bullpen bumps were moved out behind centerfield. The team also corrected the otherwise desirable problem of fans too close to the field, with netted-in safety barriers.

I’m not sure if they corrected the real indoor threat to the players, though.

To accommodate the aforementioned lack of real estate, the underground clubhouses share perpendicular egress with the service tunnel. This cold, narrow concrete artery carries superstars and super-loads of supplies simultaneously. For safety, the Giants installed padded black floor runners to get players from the locker room, down the steps and up to the field.

These runners were the only thing keeping Major League million-dollar ballplayers in metal spikes from serious injury.

Noah Lowry was the first guy I saw slip. He was reaching out to someone, left the runners and hit black ice, locking up his legs and hips and raising his arms halfway with a “whoa!”

He slid 14 inches before coming to a precarious stop. Everyone had a smile and he gingerly stiff-legged it back to safety. We developed a yell of, “MIND YOUR SPIKES” and weren’t shy using it. We never wanted to see our guys get hurt by something so mundane.

I yelled it for visiting teams, as well. Twice it wasn’t enough.

When L.A. comes to town everyone’s on high alert. In July 2004, Giants outfielder Michael Tucker went after Dodgers starting pitcher Jeff Weaver only to challenge closer Eric Gagne the very next day.

Not sure which day it was, but right in-game Michael came screaming around the dugout corner below with at least four uniformed Giants in hot pursuit. His intention was to sprint all the way to the Dodgers side of the stadium and give Mr. Weaver and Mr. Gagne the ol’-what-for!

Major problems with this line of attack, however, as the service tunnel is a quarter-mile long. Secondly, two big guys in Giants’ security gear are at the Dodgers’ door just like with me on San Francisco’s side.

Finally, there was the ice-like concrete that would bust him down hard the second he came off the pad.

Michael vaulted up the stairs three at a time and the pursuing posse kept pace. It happened so fast, but I threw up my hands in the universal stop sign, “MIND YOUR SPIKES,” just as the whole human, vertical dog pile reached our level.

Incredibly, Michael’s teammates collared him at the exact instant his metal-shorn shoes hit the pavement…just as he lost his feet, they had his arms. I wish I could remember more than Ray Durham there, maybe Marquis Grissom, coach Ron Wotus?

In any case, they lovingly had their teammate and talked him down off the cliff.

Brett Tomko of the San Francisco Giants pitches during a game with the Los Angeles Dodgers at Dodger Stadium on July 16, 2005. (Jeff Gross — Getty Images)

I wish they were with me when Brett Tomko went down. Something otherwise funny on a TV show was downright scary in person.

I was alone at the Giants clubhouse in-game and Brett was the starting pitcher. He got caught going to the bathroom during a rare 1-2-3 inning against our guys that went maybe seven pitches. Late for his turn to throw, he came flying out the secret door trainers use, with his pants unbuttoned and unbelted.

I was just about to chuckle, “Man, the things I see…” when I saw too late. I didn’t get past “MIND Y-” before his spikes hit the glass-like surface. Compounding the accident, Brett’s hands were busy reassembling the lower half of his uniform. Not able to counterbalance, Brett’s huge 6-foot-4 frame launched four feet into the air.

He came down as hard as any man ever did from any fall anywhere.

I made an effort to reach him, but his pride and athleticism had him instantly back on his feet before I could help. He waved me off and gingerly slid along until he reached the safety of the runners. There he buckled his pants and pointed himself downstairs. He awkwardly straightened up and let out the smallest of groans.

Two minutes later I could see him pitching on my monitor. He pitched normally that day and didn’t show any ill-effects again.

However, I looked up his numbers prior to writing down these reminiscences, 16 years after the fact. Admittingly using inexact science, I see he went 73-58 as a major leaguer before the fall…and 27-45 after.

I make no claim to cause and effect. I have zero medical experience. Ninety-nine percent of pitchers have less wins at the end of their careers than in the middle.

But I surely wonder about stinkin’ luck sometimes.

This article originally appeared in The Vacaville Reporter on August 31, 2020.

Matt Sieger, now retired, is a formers sports reporter and columnist for The Vacaville Reporter. He is the author of The God Squad: The Born-Again San Francisco Giants of 1978.