What Might Befall 1986’s Fall Classic

This has been the worst baseball season, ever. Well, probably ever. Never before have four teams driven so relentlessly to championships without a single challenger visible in their rear-view mirrors. Never before has a long, hot summer been so devoid of suspense.

The only saving grace of the season has been the rather adorable fact that two of the four clubs bidding for the World Series, the Angels and Astros, have never been in one, much less won one. And a third club, the Red Sox, has not won a World Series since 1918, when the Series opener was a 1-0 shutout pitched by a fat left-hander named Ruth.

Baseball lovers are counting on October’s postseason action to make up for what has been a lost season. Already they have images in mind for the playoffs: Roger Clemens bearing down on Reggie Jackson with two out in the ninth; Nolan Ryan needing only to get Gary Carter out to win a 1-0 no-hitter; that sort of thing.

At Houston, we could have a historic occasion: Baseball’s first indoor World Series. If ever there existed an example of a century’s worth of progress--or retardation--it would be a World Series between Houston and Boston, where players would commute between a hermetically sealed cathedral with synthetic grass and a quaint corner sandlot with a hunk of plywood for a left-field fence.

Such a Series might be nice, Houston and Boston, and also would afford those two cities a chance to pick up where the 1986 professional basketball series left off. Those playoffs were won, you might recall, by Larry Bird and the Celtics over Sugar Ray Sampson and the Rockets.

There would be nothing the matter, of course, with a World Series coming instead to Anaheim, where the resident baseball team--in case anyone from The Sporting News is reading--has not been and never will be referred to by a living soul, other than certain radio announcers, as the Halos.

A Series between the Angels and Mets could be big, big fun. For one thing, it would be Orange County vs. the Big Apple. Now there’s fruit for thought. If you thought that all-Missouri thing of a year ago was fun, just wait until you feast your eyes on the Oranges vs. the Apples, with Strawberry at the plate.

Another result of an Angel-Met skirmish would be the return to New York City, during the month for which he was named, of that coast-to-coast favorite, Reggie October, who ran through a dress rehearsal the other day by hitting three home runs in a single game. Never mind Roger Clemens. How about Dwight Gooden vs. Reggie, ninth inning, Shea Stadium, two outs, bases loaded? Oooooooh.

Alas, that brings us to the single biggest concern of the 1986 baseball season, and the one thing that could turn this lousy summer into a terrible autumn. There is a vicious menace to confront, one that could bring the Series and, for that matter, the entire sport to its knees, and every single one of us is aware of what it is.

The fan of New York.

You know him. You’ve seen him. You’ve heard him. You’ve read about him. He’s the guy who heckles Greg Norman at the U.S. Open golf tournament. He’s the guy who reaches over the railing and swipes Jim Rice’s hat. He’s the guy who sees Wally Joyner walking in front of him and decides it would be a nice time for a quick game of mumbletypeg.

Call Philadelphia. See if those guard dogs from the 1980 World Series are still available and still have their fangs. Call Detroit. See if those mounted police that patrolled outside Tiger Stadium at the 1984 World Series can ride over to Shea for a couple of weeks. Call Chicago. See if those riot cops from the 1968 Democratic Convention need to pick up a few extra bucks. The first thing Commissioner Peter Ueberroth needs to do before a New York playoff or World Series game is to install airport-style metal detectors at every ballpark entrance. The second thing Ueberroth needs to do is announce that postseason games at Shea Stadium will begin at 7:30 p.m., then actually start these games at 2:30, telling only the players.

We cannot even rely on a safe situation if the New York team wins, because remember what happened when Chris Chambliss belted that home run to beat Kansas City in the 1976 American League playoffs. He almost didn’t make it around the bases. Wagon trains had less trouble with Comanches.

The night the Mets clinched, which was not exactly 1986’s most unanticipated event, hometown heroes such as Gooden had to run for their lives, and pitcher Rick Aguilera actually was hurt in the ruckus. If Reggie does bat against Gooden in the ninth inning at New York, Gov. Mario Cuomo had better have the National Guard handy with bazookas, and we don’t mean bubble gum.

That is why a nice, friendly Angel-Astro series sounds just fine, thank you. No fuss, no muss. You know the Texans will behave themselves indoors. And the Californians--well, it won’t matter if Reggie’s facing Ryan in the bottom of the ninth inning. Angel fans won’t cause any trouble. They’ll have all gone home by the seventh.