... in excruciating rambling detail. Here's a "correction" from a very raw and over-indulged staffer at
the LA Times.Quote:
I left my brain in San Francisco,
High on a hill, it calls to me.
That’s the only possible explanation for the egregious error I made in a story about Sunday night’s outpouring of joy in San Francisco over the Giants’ four-game sweep of the shell-shocked Detroit Tigers in the World Series.
My brain and I have finally reconnected, thanks to an outpouring of emails (mostly gracious) and some online comments (much less so).
First, the official correction: An article in the Oct. 29 LATExtra section about San Francisco’s reaction to the Giants winning the World Series said the team had moved to San Francisco from Brooklyn. The team actually played its games on Manhattan Island and was known as the New York Giants.
But I feel compelled to explain a little further, so here goes.
I guess I could blame my father for that stumble, only he’s not alive to defend himself. An Italian American who spent part of his life in Sicily, Rome and Bologna, my father paid attention to only one sports franchise, the DiMaggio-era Yankees. (He also celebrated Antonin Scalia’s rise to the Supreme Court — “a nice Italian boy” my dad called him — but that’s another story.)
Joe DiMaggio retired long before my birth. OK, maybe not that long, if we’re into accuracy here. The point is that there was no talk of sports in my early life. And that’s where you learn this stuff, right?
Or I could blame the pressure of deadline. Game 4 went into extra inning (yes, singular), and my mission was to go out and chat with happy fans and then write a colorful reaction piece. In less than an hour.
The first part of the job was not hard to do, as San Franciscans seemed to mob every bar in the city, cram the Civic Center where a Jumbotron had been set up for communal viewing and flow onto the Embarcadero near AT&T Park. I think they also burned a bus, but I was asleep by then.
Writing, obviously, was a much harder task.
Believe it or not, it goes on from there. Sometimes the naked transparency is worse than the cover-up, which is worse than the original crime.