Anaheim Turns Red With Joy

A sea of red converged Tuesday on Edison International Field for the last time in a remarkable season.

As noise-stick-pounding fans yelled themselves hoarse and laughed until their faces hurt, as children skipped school and business owners hung out signs reading: “We’re off to the parade,” an estimated 100,000 fans exorcised 42 years of futility in a day of celebration.

A whole county celebrated with them.

“Out of the shadows, out of the shadows, out of the shadows of L.A.,” chanted one group of fans as the victory parade went by.

Elsewhere in the nation -- perhaps even in San Francisco -- some people may still refer to Orange County using the words of Giant Manager Dusty Baker: “Southern L.A.”

But local Angel fans --some of whom began waiting at 6 a.m. for a pair of parades and the rally outside Edison Field -- were having none of it.

In Southern California, “everyone thinks about the Dodgers and the Lakers, and we have always been near the bottom,” said Cindy Stier, 46, of Orange. “There is a lot of pride here. L.A. always gets all the glory. This will get us on the map.”

Many had been waiting half a lifetime or more for that moment. Against the mass of red, Paul Klein of Anaheim stood out in a black hat -- a California Angels hat, vintage 1969. He got it with his dad and has worn it ever since, year in and year out, for 27 of his 41 years -- season after season of humiliating defeat. And now, redemption.

“When ... your team is one strike away from being in the World Series, and they lose, you just lie there on the sofa and cry and cry,” he said, referring to a defeat in 1986 that for many had defined the team’s image until this month.

“This year is healing me,” he shouted above the ear-splitting, joyous roar of the crowd.

When Angel first baseman Scott Spiezio worked the crowd into a full-throated frenzy, Klein hollered his lungs out, then took off his sunglasses, wiped his eyes and tugged quietly on his cousin’s jersey.

“Dude,” Klein said quietly, “this is unbelievable.”

Some in the crowd were too young to know the suffering of decades of falling short.

There were the two children, 8 and 7, of Cathie Curtis of Anaheim Hills. She hadn’t planned to take them to the rally, but at 6:20 a.m. they woke her, begging to go. After a brief hesitation, she agreed.

“I’ve never seen my kids get ready so fast. Never,” the 35-year-old mother said. “We didn’t want them to miss school. I try to be a good mom. Missing one day of school in exchange to be part of history, that’s a totally fair trade. But they do have to pick up homework afterward. That was the deal.”

She was one of many fans who freely admitted to skipping work -- and pulling their kids out of school -- to be part of it all.

“I called in and said my kids woke up completely red today,” joked Nancy Aiello, 40, of Newport Beach as she and her three daughters ate pepperoni pizza and cotton candy for breakfast in the ballpark parking lot. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

For those who were absent from their studies, Spiezio offered some impromptu education: “I hear there’s a lot of kids skipping school today,” he yelled to fans. “I want to give you guys a spelling lesson. Can you spell R-E-P-E-A-T?”

“Repeat! Repeat!” the crowd chanted in response.

Longtime observers of Orange County life say they have never seen anything quite like Tuesday’s celebration.

“It always seemed to me that Orange County was a place where people got excited about a Nordstrom’s sale and not much else,” said Mark Baldassare, a public-policy analyst and pollster who has studied the county for two decades.

“Now people have something to be enthusiastic about.... This has brought to life a dormant sense of pride and place I had never seen before,” he said.

Festivities began at Disneyland, fitting for a team owned by Disney that enjoyed a season that played out like a fairy tale. The theme park staged a short parade at 10 a.m. from It’s A Small World, past the Matterhorn and down Main Street.

Mickey Mouse dressed for the occasion in a red pinstriped baseball uniform and a red cap, taking his place on a float alongside Troy Glaus, Tim Salmon and David Eckstein.

“When you wish upon a halo, your dreams will come true,” read a sign held up by Ronda Zidack, 44, of Diamond Bar.

Meanwhile, fans who had begun gathering near the Arrowhead Pond before dawn prepared for a second half-mile parade down Katella Avenue that was to end with the rally at Edison Field. Red-and-white confetti rained down on the players along the route.

“We are the champions” blared over loudspeakers along with just about every song imaginable containing the words “angels” or “monkey”--references to the rally monkey that became the team’s unofficial mascot in its frequent come-from-behind victories.

Red fire engines draped with banners touting the “2002 World Champions” carried the players, coaches, their families and Manager Mike Scioscia.

From a freeway overpass, police looked down, snapping pictures. Pennant-waving fans cheered from the sidewalks, some standing on their tiptoes to glimpse the triumphant team.

“I am so excited. I love them to death,” said Anaheim resident Annie Munoz, 60, who bounced uncontrollably and tripped giddily over her words. “There’s Spiezio. There’s Molina. There’s all of them! I could never get this close to them, but here I am.”

As the parade reached the field, cloudy skies cleared to a cool California blue.

And as players began stepping onto the main stage, the crowd erupted in ear-splitting whistles, hoarse cheers and other high-decibel adulation.

The players gave it back in a mutual love-fest of upraised fists and beaming smiles.

“I know you guys have been waiting a long time for this,” Salmon said. “This is yours. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Each player took his turn at the microphone, including pitching phenom Francisco Rodriguez, 20. “I send warm regards and hugs to Venezuela,” he said in Spanish. “I dedicate the seven games of this World Series to the Republic of Venezuela.”

Anaheim Mayor Tom Daly also took the stage, shouting, “Mike Scioscia for governor. Mike Scioscia for governor.” The popular manager laughed and waved Daly to stop.

“I’ve got news for the mayor of San Francisco,” Daly declared, holding up a wide-brimmed hat to the roaring crowd. “He’s going to look real cute wearing this Gene Autry cowboy hat.” In a pre-Series wager, Daly had bet the Stetson against one of Willie Brown’s trademark fedoras.

The excitement even prompted some to wonder if the team’s fortunes have changed for good.

“If lightning can strike once, it can strike twice in the same place,” said Danny Lara, 50, of Orange.

The longest-enduring fans could not help recalling the cursed game in 1986 that robbed their heroes of a title.

“I’m very angry with myself,” said Andy Garcia of Fountain Valley, who admitted he had abandoned hope after that game and returned to the Angels only three years ago.

“A true fan should not go away from his home team. This year, I said, ‘Make me a believer,’ and they did that. I’m back.

“My loyalties are back at home, where they should be.”

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Times staff writers Kimi Yoshino, Evan Halper, Mike Anton, Mai Tran, David Haldane, Bill Shaikin and Daniel Yi contributed to this report.