Bob Nightengale

USA TODAY Sports

SAN FRANCISCO — It was St. Patrick's Day, 1983.

Fun Run Day, the San Diego Padres used to call it, with Padres infielder Tim Flannery organizing the Irish-themed evening of partying and debauchery.

The Padres hit their first bar on the motorized beer crawl circuit, and eight players piled into Flannery's limo, ready for Round 2.

"So we jump in, and there was this big, goofy guy already sitting in the back seat," Flannery says. "He had this big smile on his face. He says, 'You're not going to go partying without me.'

" 'Hi, my name is Bruce Bochy.' "

And this is how Flannery and Bochy formally met.

Now, 31 years later, they still are together, perhaps united forever.

They are the yin and the yang of the San Francisco Giants.

Bochy, the guy with the size 8 1/8 cap, is the manager, leading the Giants to their third World Series appearance in five years, a road that ultimately will lead him to baseball's Hall of Fame.

Flannery, excitable and emotional, is their fiery third base coach, who has a better shot of winding up in the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland than in Cooperstown, N.Y.

Flan and Boch.

Boch and Flan.

The two men are intertwined, having spent more than half their lives working together, and now forever ingrained in Giants folklore.

"We're like an ol' married couple," Flannery tells USA TODAY Sports as the Giants prepare for Game 3 of the World Series Friday night (8:07 ET, FOX) at AT&T Park against the Kansas City Royals.

"We'll argue. He'll vent. I'll go nutty at times, and overreact on everything. And he'll have his blood boiling, but I'll be the only one to see it.

"We are totally different people, but our personalities serve us perfectly on our jobs."

What other manager do you know would make sure that when the Giants' clubhouse was remodeled over the winter, ensuring the bathroom in the coaches' room no longer had an entry to Bochy's office?

"I really think that's why he re-did the clubhouse," Flannery says, "just because of me. When he had to do his press conference every night after games, I would see him on TV, and I'd sprint through there, and steal some of his really good wine, and bring it back for the coaches.

"He caught on."

Says Bochy: "I figured it out. Flan and the coaches were sneaking in there when I was gone. They didn't know what kind of wine to steal, so they just took the most expensive bottles. I fixed that."

Bochy and Flannery, who played together on the Padres' 1984 World Series team that lost to the Detroit Tigers, have stayed together throughout most of these past three decades. Flannery, who spent three years riding the buses in the minors and coached, twice took breaks. Bochy hasn't stopped.

They've now had a nine-year run starting in 2007 when they came together to San Francisco. Bochy fled the Padres when CEO Sandy Alderson declined his request for a contract extension after winning two consecutive division titles. Bochy interviewed with the Giants and had a secret interview with the Chicago Cubs.

The Cubs hired Lou Piniella.

The Giants went with Bochy.

Bochy was permitted to make one hire for his coaching staff.

He made only one call.

Flannery, who was the Padres' third-base coach for seven years under Bochy but had been out of baseball since 2002, picked up the telephone on Halloween night in 2006.

"You got one more ride left in you?" Bochy asked him.

Says Flannery, who had been the Padres' broadcaster: "We got the band together again, and it's been one beautiful ride."

The ride hit a whole lot of potholes and ran into detours their first year together. Bochy and Flannery wondered how long they would last. The Giants went 71-91 and finished last in the NL West, which turned out to be Barry Bonds' final season.

"Our first year here," Flannery says, "we would walk from the bench to the clubhouse after games and we would have people yelling at us, 'Go back to San Diego!'

"And when we went to San Diego, were getting booed and people were calling us traitors.

"We didn't have any place to go. We were just two mavericks until we won."

Nowadays, they can't stop winning, with three National League pennants and two World Series titles in the past five years. Bochy has won more games, 1,618, than any active manager.

"You win back-to-back division titles in San Diego," says Giants starter Jake Peavy, who pitched five years for Bochy in San Diego, "and you don't want him around? And you let him get away and go to another team in your division? Are you kidding me?"

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These days, Bochy and Flannery are as revered a tandem in this city as Buster Posey and Madison Bumgarner.

Oh, sure, there are those losing streaks that inspire talk-show callers to call for Bochy's considerable head.

And, every time a runner is thrown out at home plate, or someone is held up at third that the fans believe should have scored, Flannery hears the boos.

"It can get so loud in San Francisco, and our dugouts are right there," Flannery says, "and you'll hear the booing if I don't make the right call.

"One night, I hear this guy yelling, 'Flannery, you suck!'

" 'And your music sucks too!'

"I look over, and it's Boch, he's the one yelling at me."

Ah, just another day in the best baseball reality show that's not quite suitable for the public airwaves.

"This really has been like a long-term marriage," Bochy says. "He knows me so well, and knows what I'll do ahead of time. And I know what he will do. He'll send me a text late at night with a thought or comment.

"But it's pretty cool, thinking all of the way back when we came up here. We both share a passion about this game, but we are different.

"Flan is an artist."

Flannery's passion is music, an accomplished singer-songwriter who has released 11 albums, and sang the national anthem with Bob Weir and Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead before Game 3 of the National League Championship Series.

"Let me tell you something," says Giants pitcher Jake Peavy, who hauls his guitar on the road and plays with Flannery late into the night, "Flan is really, really good. He's such a talented musician, he can make a living doing that if he weren't in baseball.

"I already told him I want to be his tour manager."

Flannery has become a hero in this community for raising more than $100,000 for Bryan Stow, the Giants fans who was brutally beaten at Dodger Stadium in 2011, with benefit concerts.

"Tim is just as good-hearted a person as you could want to meet," says Ann Stow, Bryan's mother. "He has become like a part of our family. We could never thank him enough for what he has done for Bryan.

"We are so grateful that he took it upon himself to make Bryan's cause something important to him."

While Flannery sings his bluegrass, Bochy loves his country western music. Late country star Waylon Jennings used to call him on Opening Day every season, telling him, "When I went to Nashville, everybody wanted to change the way I do my music. You don't do anything different, Boch. You stick to your gut."

Yet, unless you happen to be hear Bochy in the showers, the only time you'll hear him sing is when he had a few too many adult beverages.

"We were both together sitting at a bar one night, and the next thing I know," Flannery says, "I can't find him. It's karaoke night at this place. I look up at the stage, and the next thing I know, he's up looking right at me, and singing I Fall to Pieces by Patsy Cline."

Says Bochy: "That will be the last time for that. I think I had a few too many bourbons."

While Flannery loves to relax on the road with his guitar and sipping on some homemade moonshine, Bochy unwinds by sitting down at a blackjack table with chips stacked in front of him.

"Sometimes, if he has a rental car on the road, he'll drive back to the hotel," Flannery says, "and he gets lost every time. I know he's going to get lost. And I still jump in the car with him.

"And we end up at a casino, of course.

"He'll say, 'Oh, we'll only be here for 10 minutes.' Hours later, we're still sitting there, and he's saying, 'If we're going to win this war, you better start dropping some big bombs.' "

Flannery, 57, finally learned his lesson hanging around Bochy in San Francisco during the season. While Bochy, 59, lives just a short stroll away from AT&T Park, Flannery moved an eight-minute drive away.

"I moved," Flannery says, "just so I have to drive home. Now, when he tries to rope me into a late-night cocktail, I'll say, 'Sorry, I have to drive.'

"I've had enough of those nights when it's 3:30 in the morning with my uniform still on, talking about the game with him, and having a cocktail in my hand."

Ah, yes, but as much as they love to pick, poke, provoke and prod one another, they are almost like brothers.

"That's what people don't realize," Peavy says, "is just how much alike they are."

When Flannery opened his mail one day, there was a package from Bochy. It was tapes from the mini-series Lonesome Dove.

"It's about two old pig farmers, kicking around, and they decide to go for one more ride," Flannery says. "That's what we've done here. One more ride."

Call it baseball's version of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

Follow MLB columnist Bob Nightengale on Twitter @BNightengale.

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