Editor's Note: The schedule says it A's vs. Twins and Angels vs. Yankees in the postseason. In truth, says Page 2 California baseball diarist Eric Neel, both the A's and Angels have some ghosts to face down. And he offers a few suggestions on how they might do just that.

Thursday's scoreboard: Angels take Texas, 10-5; A's over Mariners, 5-3; Dodgers edge Padres, 6-5, Giants idle.

Status: A's win AL West division title; Angels clinch AL wild card; Giants two and a half games up on the Dodgers for NL wild-card spot with three games to play (four left for San Francisco, including possible makeup game on Monday in Atlanta).

The Angels are in. It took them a while -- not just four games worth of slipping and sliding this week, but 16 years worth of futility and frustration since their last playoff appearance. Sixteen years -- that's right, 1986. Game 5, Gene Mauch's walk to get Mike Witt, Gary Lucas' plunk of Rich Gedman, Dave Henderson's gap-toothed home-plate grin, Donnie Moore's slumped shoulders and Doug DeCinces' first-pitch popup. Games 6 and 7 -- two ugly nights in Boston. Series over. 1986. One out, one strike away from the World Series.

	If you look closely, you can see the Rally Monkey pouring beer over David Eckstein.

It says in the paper today that the Angels will play the Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. Don't believe it. The Angels are taking on the demons, they're going head-to-head with the ghosts of '86.

The guys on today's team were innocent kids back then, you say, they had nothing to do with what happened. Doesn't matter. Whammies and specters, these things are tenacious, they linger in locker rooms, hover over batting cages ... they shapeshift into billions of tiny particles and circulate in the air for years. They have never left Anaheim, and they are gathering around the boys of 2002 as we speak. If you listen closely, you can hear their high-pitched wails and laughter in the background on the tape of yesterday's Angels celebration. If you stare at the tape without focusing, if you look out of your third eye, you can see one over Tim Salmon's shoulder, flashing a devious grin, and another with his arm around Troy Percival, slowly shaking his head.

The A's are in, too. Second straight 100-win season, second division title in three years, third straight playoff appearance, Billy Beane brilliance flowing in every river, jet stream and kitchen sink within miles of Oakland. There is a powerful good feeling all over the place, reason to swagger and smile, heaping mounds of carefree confidence on every plate. Yes, as the kids like to say, it's all good.

	Slide, Jeremy, slide: The A's remain haunted by Derek Jeter's miraculous flip.

Except for the flashbacks. Except for the way the numbers 2 and 0 seem to crop up everywhere like a cosmic tease, except for Derek Jeter's grinning mug constantly popping up on television sets and magazine covers, and except for the cold-sweat replays of that play -- not just the ones on television, but the ones that come to the guys in the middle of the night, the ones with super closeup shots of Jeremy Giambi's foot tip-toeing for the plate, the ones where Jeter flicks that ball to Posada and they swear, just for a second, that he's wearing a cape, or has wings, and that he's bathed in a powerful, unearthly light.

It says in the paper today that the A's will play the Twins in the first round of the playoffs next week and that's true, but they won't make or take a pitch without also facing the haints and spirits of 2001.

Each team could cower in the face of such a supernatural threat, but that would bring nothing but scorn and derision from the dark forces. The hobgoblins of past failures do not take pity on the weak ... they mock and curse them.

Each team could deny the presence of the ghosts, but that way lies folly, too. The ghosts are easily insulted, they demand their props. They are, after all, immaterial, so they're sensitive about little things like existence and recognition. You pretend they aren't there, and they get to thinking that maybe you need a reminder, maybe you need, say, six or seven curveballs that absolutely refuse to break and so become, say, six or seven runs for the other guy. How about that, they say, how would you like that? Deny me? You can't deny me, they say. I own you.

No, the only thing to do is embrace the demons. Welcome them, talk 'em up, reflect on them as difficult but crucial parts of your team's history, tell every reporter with a notebook in his hand that you wouldn't be who you are today if it weren't for the little bad men that flit and giggle and wreak havoc all over your field and locker room. Tell them you love the ghosts.

It won't be true exactly, but it will demonstrate a certain cockeyed courage and the ghosts will respect that.

If you're the Angels, here's what you do:

	The Angels were one strike away from the World Series in '86 when Dave Henderson homered off Donnie Moore.

Have members of the 1986 team back for the first home game of the playoffs. Hold a big pregame ceremony for them. Retire the number 86 and unveil a jersey with that number painted on the outfield wall.

Invite Dave Henderson to throw out the first pitch.

Ask DeCinces to sing the national anthem and Bob Boone to lead the crowd in "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the seventh-inning stretch.

Mike Witt is a high school coach somewhere now, I think -- bring his whole school to the ballpark.

Distribute '86 team photos to every kid under 18 at the gate.

Hold an essay-writing contest: Best fan's description of being at or watching Game 5 under 500 words gets the winner free tickets to all this year's playoff games.

Pay Rich Gedman a tidy little sum to come stand at a makeshift home plate in the stadium tunnel and let fans take turns hitting him with a pitch.

Charge 86 cents for hot dogs.

Change the name of the team back to California.

Wear doubleknits.

... you know, that kind of stuff.

If you're Oakland, try:

A last minute, secret-meeting, bend-the-rules trade back for Jeremy.

"I Love Derek" tattoos for every guy in the clubhouse.

Yankee-sensitivity classes in the coliseum parking lot. The Yankees do not suck, the Yankees are our worthy opponents. We have a great deal of respect for the Yankees and we welcome the challenge of perhaps one day facing them again.

Asking the Twins to wear Yankees uniforms for Game 1 of the Division Series -- tell them it's a turn-back-the-clock thing.

Running "the play" over and over again on the Jumbotron.

Playing Sinatra's rendition of "New York, New York" on the sound system -- maybe George Benson's "On Broadway," too.

Lapel pins commemorating Game 3 of the 2001 playoffs for every fan through the gates.

Inviting Joe Torre to write a little "my way to manage" piece for the front of the game program.

On-field slide drills for the kids before the game, electric slide dance lessons during the seventh inning stretch.

Reggie Jackson walking around the park in a Yankees cap and an A's jersey -- Reggie is the bridge; walk across Reggie.

Having Billy Crystal as a special guest in the booth, telling that Mickey Mantle story for the 400,000th time, comparing last year's play to great moments in Yankee history, doing Jeter and Jeremy impressions.

... you know, these kinds of things.

Face the ghosts, embrace the ghosts, love the ghosts.

And if none of these things work, if you still see and hear the ghosts, still feel the shiver and jiggle of trepidation, you should take yourself to another plane, rise above the mundane world of winning and losing, triumph and failure. You should listen to a higher calling, detach yourselves, get all Bill Murray in "Meatballs" about it. It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! Storm the field only half-dressed, wave your arms and stomp your feet. Get the crowd to join in. It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! That kind of wild, stupid disregard for propriety and import always kind of freaks the ghosts out.

Previous entries: Sept. 26 | Sept. 25 | Sept. 23 | Sept. 22 | Sept. 20 | Sept. 19 | Sept. 18 | Sept. 17 | Sept. 16 | Sept. 15 | Sept. 14 | Sept. 13 | Sept. 12 | Sept. 11 | Sept. 9-10

Eric Neel reviews sports culture in his "Critical Mass" column on Page 2. You can e-mail him at eneel@cox.net.