And it's merely a coincidence—just a funny little quirk of fate—that when the Giants were involved in the playoffs about 40 years ago, I was sick then, too.

It was back in 1962, and I was an eighth-grader at Raymond J. Fisher Junior High School.

Anyway, the Giants and rival Dodgers tied for the National League pennant in 1962, and they were to meet in a best-of-three series to decide who would go on to play the Yankees in the World Series.

And all three games were to be played on weekdays ... on school days!

That year was the greatest. I was a huge Giants fan. I must have listened to every game on KSFO that season. And I wasn't about to miss the first National League play-off series since Bobby Thompson hit the "Shot Heard 'Round the World" in 1951.

But there was one problem ... school.

I missed the first game of the playoffs because of it. I caught as much as I could on my little transistor radio, at lunch and during PE ... even during class until the teacher caught on to the fact that I had the earphone cord running up my sleeve (I was the only kid in the room wearing a jacket on a 95-degree day).

The Giants won that day, and I missed most of the game.

They could win it all with another victory the next day, and I just had to see it. I figured I had two choices: Ask Mom if I could stay home from school and watch the game, or come down with a quick case of the flu.

No way she'd just let me stay home. So when she came in to wake me up for school that day, I moaned, "Oh, Mom, I don't feel very good."

"Right ... now get up and get ready for school." So much for motherly compassion.

"But, Mom, I'm sick!" I protested. "I can't go to school."

"Sure," she said, "that's what you say every day. Now get into the shower."

This was going to be tougher than I thought.

I mustered up all of the larceny inside of me, and barked out a little cough, then puffed out a rather phony sounding sneeze. I moaned a woeful, painful moan, and it seemed to catch her attention (lucky thing, too, 'cause my next step was to dip the thermometer in her cup of coffee).

"Maybe you really are sick," she said as she pressed her hand to my forehead. "But you don't seem to have a fever." (Shoot, I knew I should have gone for the coffee cup!).

"No, but I have a headache, and my stomach hurts, too," I said, somewhat desperately, but suddenly hopeful.

"OK, maybe you'd better stay home," she said.

"ALL RIGHT!" I screamed to myself. "I'm watchin' the Giants today!"

What I said to her, though, was much more subdued.

"Well, if you think so," I whispered. "You know best."

"But you're staying in bed all day," she added, "and there will be no TV."

Uh, oh!

Well, first things first. At least I was home. I could figure out later how to get to the new color TV in the living room.

As the day dragged on, she eased up and let me watch television. I immediately dialed in the baseball game to cheer on my Giants.

It was about the third inning when she passed through the living room, her arms piled with clothes as she made her way to the ironing board in the back of the house. (Remember? That's what moms did on weekdays back in the early '60s.)

"Hey, why is there a baseball game on in the middle of the week?" she asked.

"Uh, um," I stammered. "I don't know. I guess there's a play-off or something going on."

"You knew about this all the time, didn't you!" she exclaimed. "Why, you're not sick at all!"

"I am, too," I said defensively, mustering another cough and a pitiful sneeze just to prove myself.

She just shook her head and wandered off to do her ironing. And I settled in to watch the Giants win the National League pennant.

They won that pennant, too ... a day later in the final game of the series. They lost the day I stayed home, and I had to listen to the third game on my transistor radio during lunch and PE. No way Mom would fall for the same trick two days in a row. Though, she did a couple of weeks later when the Giants and Yanks met in the seventh game of the World Series ... I watched them lose that one, too.

The Giants broke my heart that October day in 1962—and the hearts of baseball fans all over the Bay Area—and they've been doing it ever since. Like last year in another seventh game of a World Series, and like last Saturday when they lost to the Marlins to drop out of the playoffs.

Boy, it's enough to make a guy sick.

Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.