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For 20 seasons, Tony Gwynn has been the game's best "go-to" guy, bar none. In the clutch, nobody is better. Nobody is more reliable. Gwynn's clockwork performances, day after day and night after night, would make Rolex envious.
His baseball isn't bad, either.
But I'm not talking about his baseball. I'm talking about his talking.
Gwynn never met a dumb question he couldn't answer with a smile on his face and an intelligent answer, a quotable answer. Gwynn is the deadline scribe's best friend. He is the antidote to writer's block.
That was probably never all that important to him, just part of his job. But it meant something to me. I like to think I never took that part of the Gwynn Experience for granted, but I probably did. I'll certainly miss it when he's gone.
Tony said no to those of us on this side of the game only once that I can remember. In 1998, when the Padres played the mighty Yankees in the World Series, I went to him for a favor. The magazine wanted him to do first-person stories during Series week, relating his thoughts and feelings about playing on the greatest stage in ...