A few days ago, I told the story of how I found my way to the winning locker room after the Pirates beat the Reds in the 1979 National League Championship Series.  Today, I have another locker room tale that happened almost exactly one year after the Pirates run in 1979.  When the Philadelphia Phillies earned a spot in the 1980 World Series, I wrote a letter to their public relations department and asked, as a representative of Villanova’s student-run radio station, WKVU, to be put on the list for media credentials.  Based on my success with the Pirates the previous year, I thought I had a legitimate chance of being granted a credential, and as it turned out, I was correct.  I ended up getting one “press pass” for each of the games in Philadelphia.  To be honest, I can’t quite remember if I covered the first two games at Veterans Stadium, but I know for sure that I was there, along with two friends, for the deciding game on October 21st.  I think it’s safe to say that we “crashed” the World Series, and today marks the 29th anniversary of our Game Six antics.  In a borrowed Dodge, three of us traveled down the Schuylkill Expressway to South Philadelphia.  One of my passengers was a good buddy from Villanova.  The other was a friend of that friend, a guy whom I had never met, who happened to be visiting Philadelphia while on a fall break from Notre Dame.  We only had one pass, so my ”fast talking” started early.  Those were the days of minimal stadium security, and I managed to talk the three of us into the Vet.  Once inside, we were told to stay in the press box.  We weren’t permitted on the field before the game, or in either locker room afterward.  Still, we were happy, even amazed, at the many courtesies that were extended to three college juniors.  We received detailed written recaps after every inning, we were treated to a box lunch, and the press box was even heated!  The game went by in a flash, too quickly in fact.  We wanted more, and since we had taken it this far, we weren’t prepared to see it end.  I told my two “radio colleagues” to stay put.  After six innings, the Phillies were ahead 4-0.  The Phils were on the verge of their first championship since…well, since Moby Dick was a minnow, so I was desperate to find a way into their locker room.  How could three cub reporters, a trio of budding journalists, miss the most significant sports happening in Philadelphia since 1930?  That would have been 50 years earlier, when Connie Mack led the American League Philadelphia Athletics to the 1930 World Series championship.  That was the last time a Philadelphia team had won a World Series, back in the days of the Hoover administration.  Now you can begin to understand my mindset as I wandered aimlessly in the stadium’s back halls, desperate to find a way into the locker room.  Outside a bathroom on the service level, I stumbled upon a poster board with about nine “sample” passes on display.  Some were good for the field and locker room, but not the press box, another was good for the press box only, while others permitted entrance to the locker rooms.  Finally, there was a much-coveted “all-access” pass.  Each of the passes had the letters VOID printed (in a black magic marker) in a downward diagonal.  Fortunately, I also had a black magic marker.  It was stuffed in the back of my briefcase, a very official-looking attache that also included a sandwich, a still camera, and the keys to our borrowed car.  My “creative” side took over, and I did what no other member of the “media” would ever even think of attempting.  I pulled the poster board from the wall and headed for the privacy of a bathroom stall, where I carefully peeled off three passes with locker room access.  I then took my black marker and somehow managed to change “VOID” into “NBC SPORTS” to give each of us access to the postgame celebration.  I hurried back to the press box with the  three pieces of gold, and instructed my friends to wear the pass backwards, and to only show it to security if asked.  My other advice was to get lost in the crowd of reporters.  I watched the end of the game from directly behind the plate, and the three of us found our way to the locker room without incident.  While the other two watched, I interviewed every star on the Phillies, from Mike Schmidt to Steve Carlton to Pete Rose.  At one point, I think in front of Garry Maddox’s locker, one of my friends “accidentally” kicked over a bushel-basket full of autographed baseballs.  He was more than happy to help gather the rolling baseballs, while saving a few for posterity.  I also did something that is now saved for eternity on DVD.  On a wooden riser, NBC’s Bryant Gumbel interviewed three or four men, including Philadelphia Mayor Bill Green, Baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn and Phillies reliever Tug McGraw.  In the middle of the interview, I grabbed the back of someone’s sports jacket and pulled myself onto the platform.  For a few seconds, I appeared on national television, much to the displeasure of the Phillies PR staff.  It was quite a night, and 29 years later, the memories are just as vivid.  Last year’s World Series win by the Phillies was their first since 1980, and now, they’re poised to earn a spot in another.  A lot of time has passed.  The Phillies have a new generation of players, some of whom weren’t even born in 1980.  They have a new ballpark and are enjoying a new era of domination.  Things are also different for me.  I’m a professional now and an “official” sports reporter.  In three decades as a sportscaster, I’ve learned that there’s a necessary decorum by which all media members must adhere.  I’m glad I didn’t understand that in 1980.  My days of college chaos are long gone, but thanks to my college naivete, I’ll always have the memories from October 21, 1980.  This year, I won’t be in Philadelphia to wreak havoc at the World Series, but rest assured, I’ll be there in spirit.