He Puts Aside His Struggles, Comes Through in a Pinch

Reporter to Tony Gwynn: “Aren’t you Chris Gwynn’s brother?”

Tony: “I am today.”

There were so many unforeseeable things for the brothers Gwynn, in the months that led up to Sunday’s fairy-tale ending for them, when Chris crossed up the Dodgers, his old team, by driving a division-winning double into Dodger Stadium’s right-field gap.

For example, Chris could not have known that his close friend from the Dodgers’ 1988 World Series champions, infielder Mike Sharperson, would be killed in a car crash on his way to San Diego to join him on the Padre bench. That alone had made this one of Chris’ unhappiest seasons.

He could not have known that the Dodgers would dump him, any more than the Dodgers could foresee that neither Milt Thompson nor later Dave Clark would not be the left-handed spare outfielder who would save the day, any more than the Dodgers could have expected the dormant careers of Eric Davis, Eric Young, Henry Rodriguez, Jose Offerman, Tim Belcher and Fernando Valenzuela all to be awakened by other teams.

Most of all, this struggling .167 hitter, Christopher Karlton Gwynn, could not have known that his .349-hitting older brother, Anthony Keith Gwynn, would be squeezing him so tightly on a Chavez Ravine diamond come September, he feared his rib cage might crack like a busted bat. Or that these siblings, no longer rivals, would gang up on the Dodgers this way, here in the city of their birth.

“This is wild,” Chris says.

In the din of the Padre clubhouse, some of the beer being emptied on Chris’ head by teammate Rickey Henderson accidentally spills onto 8-year-old Joshua Gwynn, his kid, Tony’s nephew. Rickey grins at this son of a Padre, rubs a few suds into Joshua’s scalp and says, “Here, I think you need some of this too.”

Players spot third baseman Ken Caminiti.

They chant: “MVP! MVP!”

Then they spy Tony Gwynn.

“Batting champ! Batting champ!”

Somewhere amid this chaos, Chris Gwynn describes the fat Chan Ho Park change-up he hit, scoring Steve Finley and Caminiti in the 11th inning of a beautifully played, error-free, do-or-don’t-die game between the Padres and Dodgers, a game that had no business being as good as it was, considering each manager’s hesitation to use his best available pitchers.

If it wasn’t Caminiti doing his Brooks Robinson impersonation on grounders to his right or left, it was Raul Mondesi making a Clementian throw to gun down a runner at home plate. The playoff-conscious Dodgers got a complete-inning performance out of starting pitcher Ramon Martinez, prompting a press-box joke that if the Padres had any guts, they would have pitched Joey Hamilton for one inning too.

It was the best/worst game of the year.

On one hand, the Dodgers did themselves proud, particularly guys such as Mike Piazza who played in pain in a semi-important game. On the other hand, the Dodgers got stopped cold by a pitcher (Bob Tewksbury) who had won one of his last 11 starts and another pitcher (Dario Veras) who had worked only 26 innings all season. Heaven help them against John Smoltz and Greg Maddux.

Their luck literally ran out. During the top of the 11th inning, Tony Gwynn superstitiously returned to the Padre clubhouse to sit and listen to the radio, because that’s what he had done Saturday when the Padres began a game-winning rally. Tony sat only a moment, though, saying, “When I heard Chris was pinch-hitting, I ran right back down to the dugout. If he got a hit, I wanted to be there.

“I had a feeling.”

It made one wonder whether Chris--someone with 52 hits over three seasons, at that point--had a feeling of his own, maybe when he woke up Sunday morning.

“You know, I did,” Chris says, mopping Henderson’s beer from his eyes. “I was thinking this morning how in this park I’ve had some big moments. I promised myself, if somebody called my name, I’d be ready.

“There’s been a lot of adversity for us this season, both Tony and me. He’s been hurt so much of this year. And I’ve been down. My teammates have been very patient with me. Most of our fans have been gracious too, although a few of them have been impatient, for which I can’t blame them. I never thought it would come to this.”

It had been Chris Gwynn who lined into a game-killing double play against the Colorado Rockies a few days earlier, for which Manager Bruce Bochy took some heat for not using Archi Cianfrocco instead.

It had been Chris Gwynn, with his puny numbers, who had been placed on San Diego’s postseason roster, rather than Doug Dascenzo, a switch-hitter with a good glove and speed.

But this was Chris’ day.

He did it for Sharpie.

He did it for Bochy, who believed in him.

He did it for Tony, who took pains Sunday to make sure Chris and the other Padres got the spotlight.

“That’s the kind of guy Tony is,” his brother says.

On Sept. 23, 1995, the Padres lost to the Dodgers, 4-2, at Dodger Stadium, on a ninth-inning, two-run pinch homer by . . . Chris Gwynn. But that was yesterday, and yesterday’s gone.

“Are you sure?” Chris asks, shouting over the noise. “This might not be over. We might see the Dodgers again, you know.”