The Front Row with MARK NELKE March 28, 2010

I guess I should have read between the lines when I was researching a possible trip to the home stadium of my favorite NFL team last week.

"We apologize, but there are no formalized tours of Candlestick Park," read the A-Z guide to the home field of the San Francisco 49ers, as posted on the team's Web site.

Now, I know why.

Of course, the fact there were no formalized tours wasn't going to stop a visitor from Idaho, and a 'Niners fan for more than 40 years, from traipsing out toward Hunters Point on the day between attending first- and second-round games at the NCAA men's basketball tournament in nearby San Jose.

A former colleague had run into a similar situation a year or so ago at Texas Stadium, but managed to sweet-talk one of the security people into letting him sneak inside long enough to have a photo taken of him with the famous star at midfield in the background.

So there was no reason I figured I couldn't happen upon a similar sympathetic soul, someone who would look the other way long enough for me to walk around the inside of the stadium, just long enough to at least snap a few photos and look in person at the spot where Joe Montana threw The Pass and Dwight Clark made The Catch.

However, for me, no such luck.

Now, I know why.

THE DAY after watching four NCAA games at HP Pavilion, most of the people in our group headed south to Santa Cruz, in search of the beach and 99-cent margaritas - not necessarily in that order.

However, two others, who would probably prefer not to be associated in print with this eventual wild goose chase, graciously headed north with me.

Even two days earlier, when our group trekked into San Francisco in search of sightseeing, a rare March sunburn, a cable car ride and free chocolate at Ghirardelli Square - not necessarily in that order - all of the locals we bugged for directions were most helpful.

But on this day, when we asked for directions and told them we were trying to find Candlestick Park, they all had the same reply:

"Why do you want to go there? It's closed."

Now, I know why.

Still, we were not going to be deterred in our quest - our quest for fun. (OK, the other two might have been having second thoughts by this time, but they were kind enough to keep them to themselves.)

So we rode one train, then another, then stepped onto the bus that would take us to Candlestick. I'm sure there were people on that bus who wondered why the heck we wanted to go to Candlestick - the park being closed and all.

Then a young couple with a young boy wearing the jersey of Antonio Gates, the San Diego Chargers tight end, climbed aboard.

"Is this the bus to Candlestick Park?" the mom asked.

"Yes!" I thought. Maybe this idea wasn't going to be as crazy as everyone thought.

Then again ...

WHEN WE stepped off the bus, right across the street from Candlestick, we were greeted by a tall chain-link fence which stretched around the parking lot surrounding the field in both directions.

No problem, I thought. Certainly there's an open spot in the fence somewhere, and we'll be in like Flynn.

We walked down Bill Walsh Way. No dice.

We walked down the other road, past the sign that read, "Welcome to Candlestick Park, home of the San Francisco 49ers." No opening there, either.

While we were on this hike, I found it curious there were no sidewalks on either side of these five lanes of roadway, as if they were trying to discourage people from walking around the stadium.

Now, I know why.

Continuing our stroll around the stadium, we neared the state park across the street, and the San Francisco Bay could be reached by a Montana pass from the street outside the stadium.

We noticed several people hanging around outside their cars at the entrance to the state park, as if they were waiting for the park to open. Further down the road, we walked past several cars parked along the street near the bay. Since it was a nice day (sunny, temperatures in the 70s), it didn't seem that unusual - until we noticed that pretty much all the cars had people still sitting in them - windows rolled up, sometimes heavily tinted windows.

Now, I know why.

One of my friends observed later that some of the drivers were drinking out of rather large beer bottles. I, however, didn't notice - I was not interested in making eye contact with anyone. One guy blew a cloud of smoke at us out his driver's side window as we walked by that would have made Cheech and Chong proud.

OUR FRUITLESS loop around Candlestick Park nearly completed, I saw an opening - some trucks and other vehicles were entering the parking lot up ahead. Onward we trudged, with a little more spring in our step (well, in my step, anyway.)

I stepped foot inside the parking lot - we have pictures to prove I indeed was inside Candlestick Park - when a man stepped out from a small booth near the gate. He looked like he might have previously worked as a prison guard in "The Longest Yard."

"Sorry, folks," he said. "Candlestick Park is closed to the public. Ever since 9/11."

Figures, I thought. So we turned around, back to the road, and began to hike up the hill, around the rest of the stadium, and back to the bus stop for the trip home.

Moments later, the young couple with the cute kid came by, and the mom said something to the guard to the effect of, "But what if we're interested in purchasing season tickets?"

Great line, I thought. Maybe the guard will be too enamored by the cute kid to realize the family was from San Diego - hundreds of miles to the South - and really had no interest in season tickets.

But by that time we were on our way, never to find out if they actually sweet-talked their way into the stadium or not.

My mind drifted to the movie "Vacation," where Clark Griswold pulled the gun on the security guard, told him what an ordeal it had been just to reach this destination, and that he and his family did not come all this way to be turned away at the gate.

But I had the feeling this security guard wouldn't be quite so sympathetic. And, I'm pretty sure he was the only one of us packing heat.

Now, I know why.

Mark Nelke is sports editor of The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2019, or via e-mail at mnelke@cdapress.com.