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The guy was our age, meaning he, too, had grown up in the heyday of the Say Hey Kid.

The guy had a well-worn, sweat-stained Giants cap complete with several stick-pin mementos, including the highly regarded Croix de Candlestick, evidence of having braved extra-inning night games at the Giants' previous, far-from-fan-friendly confines. And the guy was already there, in the AT&T Park bleachers, when we arrived 90 minutes before the first pitch on a recent Sunday.

In other words, the guy was a gamer, as Mike Krukow might say.

So, when the guy interrupted the conversation between my longtime friend Bill and me, we didn't rebuff him. To the contrary, he had already established his street cred, or in this case his baseball cred, with that cap and his early-arrival presence, in the bleachers, no less. We welcomed him.

Bill and I had been talking about the pristine-looking condition of the field, and that back in the day, when we were kids and first watched big-league baseball, at least some of the fields seemed, well, less than pristine.

That thread of conversation led me to recall how a rock (actually, a pebble, but what's the harm in a bit of dramatic hyperbole?) in the infield had caused an injury to a shortstop and prolonged a key rally in the eighth inning of a World Series Game 7.

"A routine grounder hit a rock in the infield, came up and hit the shortstop in the throat," I said to Bill. "He had to leave the game and ..."

Before I could finish, the guy jumped in.

"Yeah, Dick Groat," he said. "Pirates. The 1960 Series."

Hmm. Right Series, wrong player.

"No," I said cheerfully, "it was the Yankees shortstop who got injured. Tony Kubek."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," the guy said. "Pirates-Yankees. Mazeroski's homer won it in the 10th."

"Actually, it was the bottom of the ninth," I said, still maintaining a light, convivial tone, simply wanting to inform, not wanting to come off as a schoolmarm.

The guy took it well, laughed a bit, either at my nerdiness or his memory mishmash.

"You know," I said, "the pitcher who gave up the homer to Mazeroski was Ralph Terry, and two years later it was Terry again on the mound in another World Series Game 7, but at Candlestick."

Well, the guy beamed, apparently delighted that the trip down baseball's Memory Lane was continuing with a Giants focus.

"Oh, man," he said, "you know your history." Then he quizzed me. "OK, what Yankee caught that last out, the McCovey line drive?"

"Bobby Richardson," I said, not bothering to add that, to an old-time Giants fan, that's a softball question at best; nearly insulting, at worst.

"Who was on deck?" he quizzed me further, but instantly answered himself, saying "Willie Mays," seemingly determined to prove he was no dunce when it comes to knowledge of Giants history.

Well, what was a know-it-all memory aide to do? Couldn't let that go.

"Mays was on second when McCovey lined out," I said. "Mays had just doubled Matty Alou to third. Orlando Cepeda was on deck."

The guy self-deprecatingly shook his head and smiled, but perhaps with a slight edge this time, a small discomfiture. We continued to talk San Francisco Giants history, which, two World Series championships in the past three years notwithstanding, is a history rich with exquisite disappointment. We talked about the 2002 World Series heartbreak, among several other orange-and-black letdowns (or meltdowns), including 1959, '65, '71, '82, '87 and '89.

"And don't forget 1993," he said. "Great team, 103 wins ... "

And I was feeling good for the guy now. He was on a roll and his memory was sharp, and there was no need to be the pain-in-the-backside know-it-all or the helpful memory aide. We could just be bleacher buddies talkin' Giants' blasts from the past. And then he completed his thought.

" ... but then they lost that one-game playoff to the Braves."

Well, of course there was no one-game playoff in 1993. When the Giants lost to the Dodgers on the final day of the regular season and the Braves beat the Rockies for their 104th win, the Braves won the division, and there were no wild-card teams back then. He probably got it mixed up with 1998, when the Giants lost a one-game playoff to the Cubs for the NL wild card.

This time I kept my mouth shut. The guy seemed truly happy to have found a simpatico amateur Giants historian. Yeah, my smiling, nodding silence confirmed an untruth. So what?

Even a know-it-all nerd has to know when enough is enough.

Robert Rubino can be reached at RobertoRubino@comcast.net.