A joke, yes. We will laugh in the car.
Despite the fact that the wrong Bay Area team is in the World Series, I spent last night partying with GianttsFanzen and pouring liquor directly onto my brain while yelling "ooooooooooooooowwww!" repeatedly. That's what sporting fandom is all about, when you boil it down. I'm no GianttsFanzen by any stretch of the imagination, but I've never lived in a town (or near one) that has had a team in the World Series, and the atmosphere in SF right now is a hell of a lot of fun to be a part of. If the Giants figure out how to keep the Angels in single-digits and can win three more, it is going to be partytime up in here, no doubt.
What I really want to write about is the following:
Last night, splat in the middle of my liver-thrashing session, I went outside for a small visit to Flavor Country. I walked outside and looked to the right. There, I saw a man. This man was wearing a Giants cap, an orange t-shirt with "Giants" written on the front of it, a large crucifix medallion, black baseball pants with an orange stripe down the side, stirrup socks and turf shoes. He was a big man -- I'd say about 6'3'' and 250 lbs.
He also wore a black baseball glove and had a baseball.
He was: Warming up in the imaginary bullpen, shadow-pitching the ball to an invisible catcher.
He looked: Determined yet nonchalant; confident but not cocky.
He seemed to be: A right-handed middle-reliever.
I'm pretty sure: He was trying to get discovered by some roving Giants scout.
I watched him shadow-pitch for about 3 minutes. After that, I guess he felt he was warm, because he ducked inside for another drink as I walked in the bar. He bumped into me and I turned around.
"Nice hat," he said, pointing at my Aes cap. "Too bad they choked." He chortled.
"Thanks," I said.
I'm not one to argue with a pro ballplayer. Color me awestruck.
