Time for my first post-retirement mailbag!

     I miss doing mailbags now that I'm retired from covering the Giants, so I asked my Twitter followers to send me questions about anything not related to the 2021 Giants, whom former colleague Susan Slusser are covering so well.

    I got a lot of questions about my 30 years on the beat, especially food and travel. I answered a bunch, starting with a question from former beat-mate Kerry Crowley.

    Q: @ko_crowley: What's your ideal three-city, National League road trip? On a newspaper budget, which hotels would you stay at and what bars/restaurants would you visit?

    A: On your newspaper's budget? Does Motel 6 have a loyalty program? 

    I kid. I kid.

    I've gotten this question a lot, usually not from overachieving Gen-Zers with bad haircuts, but Kerry's question had no spelling errors so I picked it to bat leadoff.

    I would go with New York, Chicago, San Diego. The first two should be obvious. These are two of the world's great cities, alive with people, great places to eat and drink (back in the days when one could do that) and in Chicago, of course, Wrigley Field. I went there dozens of times, and the awe and mystique of being there never disappeared.

    San Diego is a terrific city and perhaps the only place I'd settle if I chose to leave the Bay Area. The baseball vibe around Petco Park is almost Wrigley-like. The Gaslamp Quarter houses all sorts of food and drink. An abundance of young folks make it vibrant, especially on weekends.

    As for hotels and food/drink:

    New York: Unfortunately, my two favorite haunts (Foley's, Finnerty's) are no more. Trying to pick one bar or restaurant in this city is challenging. If I were there for one night, I'd dine at La Nonna in Little Italy because it offers the menu of now-closed Pellegrino's next door. Amazing Italian cuisine, and Mulberry Street is a trip back in time. I don't have a favorite hotel in New York, but I like staying in Chelsea. Good neighborhood and central.

    Chicago: Lou Malnati's for pizza. You'll thank me. The Lodge is a small bar on Division Street that used to be a big player/coach/writer hangout and still has a unique vibe (and great jukebox) for those who want to escape the thump-thump-thump of the bigger places in on Division. And at least once you have to go to the Billy Goat Tavern, the inspiration for John Belushi's "cheezborger, chips, Pepsi" skit on Saturday Night Live. I like staying in the North River section.

    San Diego: Cafe Sevilla in the Gaslamp is an amazing tapas place with a great wine selection. If you ever meet Kerry, ask him about the time he almost called an ambulance for me there. I like the Hilton Gaslamp hotel, a short walk from the ballpark with a nice, understated Italian place around the corner (Toscana) that has good breakfast and coffee in the morning.

    Q: @alexsensei: Any good stories about the crazy travel schedule for beat writers?

    A: Craziest day was Game 162 in Denver in 1998. The Giants rose that day unsure if they would fly to Atlanta to start the National League Division Series, Chicago or New York for a one-game play-in or home after being eliminated. 

    It came down to the Giants-Rockies, Cubs-Astros and Mets-Braves games because the Giants and Cubs opened the day tied at 89-72 for what then was a lone National League wild card. The Mets were a longer shot at 88-73.

    And we all had to fly that night to get to New York or Chicago, or the day after for Atlanta, and really spent most of the day ignoring the Giants-Rockies games with our heads buried in airline websites.

    Newspapers do not like to pay day-of-flight rates, so we all used every ounce of our sneakiness and knowledge of flaws in airline ticketing conventions to buy flights for every city. (The airlines have long since gotten wise and now use website algorithms to prevent such shenanigans.)

    We lucked out when the Mets fell behind early and it was clear they'd be eliminated, so New York was out. Naturally, though, our game in Denver and Cubs-Astros in Houston were nuts, and with every twist and turn at Coors Field or the Astrodome we'd be yelling, "We're going to Chicago!" "We're going to Atlanta!" "We're going home!"

    When the Giants took a 7-0 lead in the fifth inning it became clear that we were going to Atlanta for the Division Series -- until the Rockies came back for six in the bottom half. The racking of press box nerves intensified as our game moved into the ninth inning at 8-8 and Cubs-Astros spun into extras at 3-3.

    At the very moment Neifi Perez homered off Robb Nen in Denver to beat the Giants 9-8, the Astros scored a run in the 11th off former Giants closer Rod Beck to bet the Cubs, which meant a one-game playoff at Wrigley Field.

    Beck saved that one, and the Giants were eliminated.

    I had much worse travel days, but none as nuts.

    Q: @milesdividendmd: Ted Cruz: Love him or adore him?

    A: He makes me laugh every time I see him because....

    Wait, I thought you asked about Ted Lasso.

    Ted Cruz is a hump.

    Q: @almajir: What do you miss the least about covering baseball?

    A: Zoom group interviews and the lack of personal interaction with players. But since that is temporary, I have a broader answer.

    I won't miss the silly "who tweeted it first?" race that has become a cottage sub-genre of sportswriting. Scoops are now measured in seconds. You'll often see a "so-and-so has signed with the this or that team, I have learned" 30 seconds before the team announces it to everyone.

    When Twitter arrived, we on the beat tried to add a measure of civility to the pregame manager interviews by asking reporters not to tweet news such as injuries and lineup changes until the group session was done, because it seemed rude to make the skipper talk finish his answer while staring at 20 reporters typing into their phones.

    The only time I remember breaking the rule was when Bruce Bochy announced his retirement. We all did. After a while I gave up caring because there was no way to stop this rudeness. 

    Fortunately, my editors at The Chronicle realized good sportswriting was not about who tweeted first, but the follow-up reporting and analysis that added important perspective.

    Q: @seharmon: What do you miss most about being on the beat?

    A: The flip side to the previous question has an easy answer. I miss the press-box camaraderie with fellow scribes and talking ball in the dugout during batting practice with whatever baseball folk happened by.

    In a press box, you laugh more in one night than most people do in a month at other jobs. I never took that for granted. Now, I have to laugh at Kerry's haircuts remotely.

    Q: @kelly7552: Have you ever had an uncomfortable experience as a Jewish sportswriter?

    A: Nah. The pain from the circumcision was gone by the time I covered my first game.

    Seriously, though, no. I can't remember any issue like that.

    Q: @gingerkid1616: Do you think it’s fair that some players who accomplished more in let’s say 5-6 years of their career than most ever do or take 15-20 years to accomplish are not voted into HOF because they didn’t have 10-15 good years due to injury etc...?

    A: I love this question because it underscores how ball writers, like any electorate, travel many routes to arrive at their ballots.

    I probably land in a minority who believe that anyone who impacted the game in a major way regardless of stats should qualify, which is why I voted for Tommy John every year. When you volunteer to be a guinea pig for a radical surgery that would change the game so radically, you deserve a plaque.

    John won 288 games but earned what I view is a silly epithet as a "compiler," whose stats are less valued because he gathered them over such a long career. But Jesus, if you can pitch for 26 seasons bisected by an experimental elbow rebuild now eponymous, they should create a Hall of Fame around you.

     As to the question, Sandy Koufax was elected on the first ballot after six remarkable seasons that followed six that were "meh." So there is a precedent. But nowadays most voters want to see at least 10 years of greatness. Without that they land in the "Hall of Very Good."

    I feel the Hall has room for six great years and 26 steady ones.

    Q: @gillee: Is there an embarrassing @extrabaggs story you are hoping to pay him back with? 

    A: Do I have stories? 

    Absolutely. 

    Can I ever tell them? 

    No.

    Andy has something on me that he and I term the "nuclear option," great for blackmail. Why do you think I'm always ripping on Kerry instead?

    OK, I'd probably do that anyway.

    Q: @grobbex2: Bonds vs. Kent dugout fight. Anything you can tell us we don't already know?

    A: After the game, Barry Bonds bolted from the tiny clubhouse at Jack Murphy Stadium as if the place were on fire. But Jeff Kent stood by his locker waiting for us. He was smart. He knew that with Bonds gone he owned the narrative. David Bell, the subject of the fight, wouldn't talk.

    Kent did the writers another huge favor. He refused to talk until the television cameras left. I don't know why he did that, but we hated the TV cameras because the stations often sent them without reporters, so they would collect video based on our questions. They were enjoying the fruits of our work.

    At first they wouldn't leave, and here's the part none of us will forget.

    The Giants had a young media-relations guy named Matt Hodson (now with the Twins), His bosses felt this would be a nice, easy assignment for a newbie to go on his first solo trip. It lasted just three days in San Diego. What could happen?

    Then, of course, the 2000 and 2001 National League Most Valuable Players went at it in the dugout, a fracas shown on TV.

    "Hoddie" became an animal. He started screaming at the TV guys when they wouldn't back away from Kent's locker. "You heard him! Back off!" They tried to sneak video and audio from the other side of the clubhouse, but Hoddie drove them off.

    We learned, of course, that Bonds was actually the "good guy" in the fight protecting Bell from Kent's haranguing over a defensive play on the field.

    SOME QUICKIES

    @RayHorwath1: Do you prefer the Oh Henry candy bar to a Baby Ruth? 

    Baby Ruth by a mile. I don't like Oh Henrys.

    @margiehmb: When it is all safe again to travel, where's the first place you'll go out of state? Out of country?

    Maui, then Italy. I blame Stanley Tucci for the latter.

    @SamTass: Do you plan on ever taking road trips to attend baseball games now in retirement?

    Yes, maybe even San Diego and Denver in September -- leisure only.

    @be_a_backstop: How many rental bikes/scooters lying on the middle of the sidewalk have you thrown into the bay?

    Moi? That's not ecologically correct. Next mailbag, ask me how many I lifted off the sidewalk or wheelchair curb cuts and tossed them into bushes.

    @gmanderson88: Any substance to the rumor that you are practicing trombone in preparation for joining your high school bandmates on a reunion tour, maybe play another Super Bowl?

    No, I live in an apartment building and some of the neighbors own guns. As for the Super Bowl, Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars have my contact info.

    ENDO

    

    

    

    

    

 

Fans of the Pink Pony, Don and Charlie's and the Italian Grotto in Scottsdale need to start new traditions

    My good friend and former colleague John Shea went on a doleful nostalgia tour after he arrived in Scottsdale for spring training the other day. He texted a string of photos that showed the Pink Pony, Don and Charlie's, and the Italian Grotto in various stages of afterlife.

    

    The shuttered Pony still had the outline of its name on the building, faded though legible, with the ground-to-roof painting of a baseball on its north side. 
    

    The Grotto still had its signage affixed to the signature red-painted, clapboard facade, one noting that it was established in 1977, plus a banner promising a new Italian bistro COMING SOON.
    
    Don and Charlie's...well, if you loved the place, steer clear of the corner of 75th Ave. and Indian School Road, where a half-built boutique hotel rises where the restaurant was demolished.
    

    The Pony, Don and Charlie's and the Grotto were the holy trinity of hangouts for generations of Cactus League visitors. All three are history.

    

    And you know what? That's OK.
    

    You probably figured this blog was headed in a different direction, a lament of the loss of younger days, special memories and friendships. 
    

    But I won't go there. 
    

    I am as nostalgic as anyone (mostly for my hair) and I will miss all three restaurants. But mostly I'll miss seeing their proprietors, and this is where a tour of memories crashes headlong into the realities of age and mortality -- for people, places and things.
    
    What made these eateries and drinkeries special was not the caricatures of patrons, mostly long-tone, that adorned the walls of the Pony, nor the millions of dollars of sports memorabilia that filled every empty space of Don and Charlie's -- even the ceilings. Nor was it the incredible Italian food at the Grotto, which disproved the adage that a tourist attraction and mouth-watering cooking somehow are mutually exclusive.

    

    These restaurants were an extension of the people who largely created them and held onto them until they could hold on no longer.

    The Pink Pony was Charlie and Gwen

Briley. Charlie did not actually open the restaurant. He tended bar there before buying it around 1950. There, the likes of Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and other baseball greats sat in booths with other baseball folk telling tall tales (and a few truthful ones) as they bit into some of the best steak and chops in the Valley.

     

    One of the best moments of my baseball life happened there, when I was invited to dine with Joan Ryan, Stephanie Salter and others in a booth with Bill Rigney, the baseball lifer who managed the Giants when they moved west, and again for a forgettable 1976 season.
    

    "Rig" was one of the game's best storytellers. I was not a pup at the time but was still mesmerized. I couldn't tell you one of those stories now. My mental hard drives aren't what they used to be.
    

    Gwen ran the Pony for six years after Charlie's death in 2002 before selling. Others tried to keep it going. One restaurant group inadvisably attempted to turn it upscale, with gourmet food and modern furnishings alongside some of the old memorabilia, which were displayed as an afterthought.
   

    How did that go? 

    You saw the photo.
   

    By then, Don and Charlie's long had supplanted the Pony as the IT place in Scottsdale. 

The hotel being built where Don and Charlie's once stood.

    Don Carson, a Chicagoan whose family still runs and old-school, wood-paneled steakhouse in the Second City called Carson's, moved to Arizona and opened "D&C" in 1981 with a partner not named Charlie. In fact, there was no Charlie. As Don tells it, the name was a joke to annoy an associate named Charles who hated being addressed with the nickname.

    

    D&C was a great spot for baseball people because Don ensured they could eat without being bothered. Scouts, players, GMs, broadcasters.... More nights than not  Bud Selig and Bob Uecker dined there. They are among Don's best friends.

    

    Fans might think it a sacrilege that Don sold the building to a hotel developer, but he earned the rest after 38 years and wanted to provide for his family. He was in his mid-70s when the restaurant closed in 2019 after he enduring a list of orthopedic maladies that no single human should experience.
    

    Don and Charlies without Don Carson seems unfathomable to me. Maybe I view it differently because we are friends. It's more personal, and I did have the luxury of eating 8 million D&C ribs.
    

    The Grotto's closure surprised a lot of us. We arrived in Arizona last spring to see it shuttered. It, too, had a single, legendary owner, a New Yorker named Garry Horowitz, who talked in the raspy voice of a longtime smoker and was -- how shall we say it? -- colorful.

     With his temper he had no compunction against ejecting diners for sins such as sending a dish back to the kitchen. Some of the Grotto's crowd-sourced reviews online were hilarious, noting that the food was great but the owner nutty. 

    

    But Garry was loyal to his friends and employees, many of whom worked there for decades and returned multiple times after they quit or were fired.
    

   Garry came to Giants practices and games religiously. Near the end of each spring he would call me over to say, in his unmistakable New York accent, "I think they're gonna be OK, but they need one more playuh."
    

    The Grotto was a favorite of my late friend Pedro Gomez, who died unexpectedly on Super Bowl Sunday, and any nostalgia that drips from this piece comes from my heartsickness that Pedro is gone.
    

    Again, though, imagining the Grotto without Garry is a stretch.
    

    Times change. Memories endure. But the day comes for the next generation to create its own memories in its own places. Dining has changed since the Pony, D&C and the Grotto came to be. Steaks, chops and big Italian meals, though wonderful, are not what most younger folk have in mind. 

    My friend Alex Pavlovic, a millennial, loves a particular salad place. Kerry Crowley, who was born three months ago, indulged me in a few trips to D&C but enjoys his healthy food as well. 

    For decades, Giants beat writers christened spring training with a group dinner at D&C. That disappeared long before the structure did.
    

    I do feel for those who for years promised themselves they would go to Scottsdale one day and have the ribs at Don and Charlie's. I get it. That they cannot do.
    

    They need to start new traditions. The rest of us are not too old to follow them.  Traditions are about people as much as institutions, especially at these three joints.
    

    I'll miss them, but won't mourn them.