Last summer, a Laguna Beach woman decided to kick people off the sand near her oceanfront home.
“I’m not joking around,” she screamed. “It’s not harassment on the beach, it’s harassment in my whole property. Get out of here! Now!”
She dragged a rope across the beach, marked an imaginary boundary and continued to shout. Beachgoers packed up and trudged away.
There is no band of brothers when it comes to bridge building. In the world of concrete and rebar, it’s every man for himself.
That’s my takeaway from discussions with Caltrans about the city’s doomed bicycle bridge over Interstate 5 and Riverside Boulevard. The state transportation agency’s attitude is, whatever happens with that bridge is the city’s problem.
“The City of Sacramento is responsible for the day-to-day administration of the construction contract of the bridge,” a Caltrans spokesman tells me.
Every few years, the Kings produce a season that explains why they will never be much good for any length of time. This season is a perfect example.
Building a great NBA franchise is tough. But like many hard tasks, the formula for NBA success is well defined.
Start with two current All-Star players (three is better but two can work). Add maturity and leadership on the floor and in the locker room. Mix in an experienced coaching staff and supportive front office.
People are excited about the team once known as the Oakland A’s playing home games in a minor-league ballpark in West Sacramento. Not me.
This fascination with the A’s and Major League Baseball is a sucker’s game, a modern version of the old carnival stall hook-a-duck.
The A’s are carpetbaggers. They swoop into town in search of accommodation, untethered to commitment. They linger as long as convenience allows, then vanish into the night. They won’t even mention their stopover city’s name.
Smart people tell me the A’s three-season residency makes Sacramento a contender for big league permanence, either through expansion or the A’s themselves. This is nonsense.
The city doesn’t know how to tell a story.
In January, I asked the city for documents related to the Del Rio Trail bicycle bridge across Interstate 5 and Riverside Boulevard.
You know the bridge.
It’s the $12 million span that never opened. The one with wooden construction forms still hanging above the freeway. Built with substandard concrete and rebar. Now facing demolition.
And begging questions about how the city waited until last summer, when the bridge was ready for its ribbon cutting, before anyone started screaming about the problems.
That bridge.
