Destiny does not happen very often, and when you're from San Diego, it happens even less.

It is a beautiful city - sun, surf, Shamu. But sporting success seems to come to the town about as often as Rush Limbaugh gets invited to NOW meetings.

I was born in San Diego and lived there until I was seven and my family moved to Phoenix. Let's count the number of major championships won between those two cities. None. The San Diego Sockers of the Major Indoor Soccer League (three titles) and the Arizona Rattlers (one title) of the Arena Football League don't count.

My beloved Chargers taste glory about every decade or so. In the late 1970s-early 1980s, it was quarterback Dan Fouts and Air Coryell taking the bolts to two AFC conference title games. Two years ago, San Diego made their first Super Bowl appearance. But now, after three playoff appearances in the last four years, the Chargers have lost their best runner and defensive lineman and have wide receivers who couldn't catch mono from their girlfriends.

Sure, there were the Clippers, (don't laugh), led by that legendary power forward Swen Nater. But c'mon, it's tough to get behind a basketball team whose name conjures up images of manicure instruments. They took their act up the Pacific Coast Highway to be the worst team in Los Angeles, which they remain to this day.

That left the Padres.

While their brethren in the cloth would take vows of obedience and silence, the Padres took a vow of abstinence, from winning baseball games. But then, in 1984, they won the National League pennant before losing to Detroit in the World Series.

That was the first time a San Diego team had reached the pinnacle of its respective sport. Sure, the Padres lost, but the fact that they got that far endeared them to the fans. Even though I was in Phoenix by then, I felt a bond with that team. But, being San Diego, the good thing didn't last. In the late 1980s, new ownership took over the team and began what can best be described as a degutting process.

High-priced talent was traded for cheap minor-league players. Remember at one point, the Padres had Roberto Alomar, Fred McGriff, Gary Sheffield and Andy Benes (to go with Tony Gwynn and Bruce Hurst). The moves were made to increase the profit margins, but who comes to watch a mediocre team? No one in San Diego.

I've always had a tenuous relationship with baseball, and when I saw what those owners were doing in the quest for the almighty dollar - basically stripping a team and not caring what that did to its fans - I stopped following the national pastime altogether.

So imagine my surprise when, as the Chargers slowly fall toward mediocrity, and with no other sport calling San Diego home (the Sockers have disbanded), the Padres began to play some good baseball.

After a few years under the old regime, new owners took over the Padres. They started bringing in proven players like Rickey Henderson, Wally Joyner and Ken Caminiti. Young pitchers were developed, and with Alan Ashby, Joey Hamilton and former UA player Trevor Hoffman, the Padres almost have a staff to rival the 1984 team.

While this season is just 20 games old, the rejuvenated Padres have jumped out to a 13-7 record and even a little lead in the mediocre NL West.

Maybe that's the nice thing about sports - there's always something to root for. Sure, it's still April, but it's enough to give Padre fans a little hope. But they better enjoy it, because in San Diego, misery comes in with the tide.

Patrick Klein is sports editor for the Arizona Daily Wildcat.