Baseball and Nostalgia

Every year I think to myself, "I really want to head to a college baseball game at Stanford*." Then I pull up the schedule, take one glance at it, and inevitably forget about it again until the next year. Or my life gets in the way of going. But this year when I had that thought, I pulled up the Stanford schedule, saw they had a weekend tilt coming up against the Texas Longhorns, had nothing else on the agenda and thought, "Huh, that could be fun, let's see if we can make that happen."

I emailed Beth and asked her if she'd like to join. Beth is becoming my go to for random sporting events. She was on board. (We've now gone to hockey, baseball, and golf together. And watched the Super Bowl.)

World Series! WOOO!

Oh man. That was fun, huh? Who knew? Who knew the Giants would go and sweep the Tigers? No one in the National Media, that's for damn sure. (East Coast Bias!)

Actually, even I didn't know. In case you haven't caught on to my incredibly pessimistic fandom, every time we were down in any of the series leading up to the world series I'd be like, "Well. This was fun. It's nice to make it to the playoffs but guess this isn't our year. Which is fine because it was our year just two years ago. No big." EXCEPT IT TOTALLY WAS OUR YEAR! AHAHAHAH!

We did it. Swept Detroit. Get to have a giant (heh) victory parade on Halloween. (Are you going to the parade? I'm really torn about this. On the one hand: revelry! On the other: ugggh people. Since I went two years ago thinking, "Once in a lifetime event!" and didn't really see anything, I'm kind of okay with not going tomorrow. But...I have an easily changeable mind.)

Do you know who REALLY won the World Series?

My LSU Tigahs.

That's right. Winning run scored by LSU's own Ryan Theriot. The Ryan Theriot that everyone was like, "What voodoo magic is Bruce Bochy channeling to put him in at DH? That makes, like, exactly zero sense." (Californians say "like" a lot. Even the ones who swear they don't. I say it about a thousand times more than I would like to. And when I try to stop saying it hilarity ensues. It is our weird verbal tick.)

Maybe Boch watched the 2000 College World Series. I know I vividly remember it. I was back in California for the summer, inexplicably at my stepmom's house in San Ramon, aka the pit of despair, watching, as my annoying tween stepsisters ran around the house. I saw we were the home team and thought, "Oh we got this. We have last at-bat." And it was won on a Brad Cresse bloop single in the bottom of the 9th to topple Stanford scoring...Ryan Theriot.

That's LSU's 3rd appearance in the MLB WS in three years. (2010: Wilson, Fontenot; 2011: Theriot; 2012: Theriot, Wilson*)

*Wilson is obviously injured and not on the roster but I think for purposes of receiving a ring and being part of the team, he counts.

LSU has a full rundown of all players involved in World Series, way back to Alvin Dark. (There's a street in Tiger Land (where most of the LSU bars are) named after him. It runs into YA Tittle St.)

Theriot had a great interview after the game on MLB Network (thanks to TK for alerting me to its existence) which was amazing on so many levels, mostly for his son's comments, where he sounded not unlike me, "Oh yeah, World Series. Awesome. Can't wait to be in Baton Rouge for the Bama game Saturday."

It's Bama Hate Week, y'all!

Hate week involves hating everything involved with that team, from their napoleonic head coach (who, yes, I'm aware used to be our head coach) to being the only person in the Cow Palace on Friday night cursing under their breath when that Lynard Skynard song came on singing the praises of that state.

I, of course, don't have much faith in our ability to actually win the game. But the atmosphere alone in Baton Rouge is going to amazing and rocking and it's at night. I mean, Ironman themed pump up video. How badass is that? I'll be watching at my friends' place in Oakland.

So let's celebrate the Giants victory, anxiously eat junk food in anticipation of LSU's kickoff, and revel in how my fandom is good for teams that like winning. Let's hope someday the NHL ends its lockout and I can see how that applies to my hockey team...

Game 7

I bitch a lot about San Francisco. We have a difficult relationship, this city of my birth and I. But sometimes, the stars align and it can be one of the most amazing places in the world. That happened Monday night, as I attended Game 7 of the NLCS between the Giants and the Cardinals.

Lil Wayne & The Riot

Sometimes I'm writing about things I can't believe I'm writing about. But alas. Here we are. Lil Wayne. And me getting cranky about baseball fans. (After watching 60 Minutes on my own, unbidden last night, I channel Andy Rooney below.)

Will Clak (Not a Typo)

It's apparently Will Clark takes over the Internet week.

He showed up first on Deadspin, as written by Grant Brisbee, the best Giants writer ever.

Then the SF Giants website posted a webisode, a clip of which recounted the same incident as Grant did: Will Clark's first big league at bat where he hit a homerun off Nolan Ryan in the Houston Astrodome.

I, without giving away my age (which is silly and most of you know), was younger than Grant when Will Clark hit that homerun so I have exactly no recollection of it. Who knows if we were even watching the game, but chances are highly likely that my dad at the very least had a radio on somewhere, as that is his preferred method of taking in a game he's not at. (Except that Jon Miller calls the Giants on the radio now and my dad and I both can't stand Jon Miller. I realize we are in the minority here, a lot of people lionize him, but we don't and end up yelling at the radio "Just call the effing ball game! For christsakes!")

Even if I had seen Will Clark's first homerun, I wouldn't remember it as I wasn't at an age where I had much in the way of cognitive abilities. But Will Clark would still end up having a pretty big impact on my formative years.

Sprots

I've decided the DSM-IV should have a section on sports addiction for someone like me who suddenly finds herself inside on gorgeous SF days because the UEFA match between Ireland and Croatia just can't be missed.

Tonight Tonight

I watched hockey in a crowded bar, made friends with twin girls from upstate New York who are on vacation in SF from Manhattan, where they now live, one of whom works at a giant financial firm. She gets her company's on the glass seats to Ranger's games. Pictures of which she showed me. She also showed me a picture of her with Ryan Callahan and asked me if I knew who he was. Bitch, please. They were adorable.

I went to an amazing pitcher's duel of a baseball game, where Matt Cain pitched 8 shutout innings and Cliff Lee pitched 10...and lost. It was such a fast game it felt like a football game. Back and forth, up and down, trying to keep track of the action. We went through 8 inning in an hour and fifteen minutes. In baseball time that's...nothing. I wasn't even finished with my first beer before there was the 7th inning cut off. A couple of hits were the difference in this game. It was uber fun.

Long Hot (maybe) Summer

We begin the summer of no contact sports. Hockey ended. Boston won. (Fans in that city will still talk about how they are persecuted, no doubt. But really? That's an Irish Catholic thing so it's not that surprising. "But look at your good fortune!" "Aye, just waiting for the other shoe to drop...Gawd hates the Irish!" Trust. I live in one of these families.) Then Vancouver got burned to the ground in a loss, a part of mob mentality I do not at all understand. But here we are. A long summer waiting for my beloved college football to start again, the countdown clock already up on the LSU website. And then hockey again shortly after that. But what do we do in the meantime?

Not that I don't love baseball, I do, but baseball is for listening on the radio on sunny summer afternoons as you sit on your back porch in the sun. (If you live in a Southern novel, as it's 60 and foggy all summer in SF. (Not today!) And you actual Southerners I know are doing your best to avoid the steaming hot weather.) It's for going to games and socializing and half paying attention while you chat and drink beer and indulge in ballpark food. It is the thinking mans game, with it's slow, easy pace. What am I supposed do to cure my blood lust?

Because Hockey has kept me rapt since I discovered it a mere 7 months ago. Since I saw a pair of blades dance across the ice. You all know that. I've definitely expounded on the issue before. I loved going to Kezar Pub for the finals and hanging with the bestie, eating wings, drinking beer. I love playoff beards and hard playing manly men. (It was determined I should probably just pick up and move to Canada last night to snag me a hockey player. Too bad there's that whole "I hate snow. A lot." thing.) I make it a point to watch games, to sit down and watch them live as their is nothing worse than DVR'd sports. I bought a hockey t-shirt. By comparison: I don't have a Giants t-shirt.

So now what? I guess I could read more books and go to museums and see plays. Isn't that what summer is for? But damn I'm gonna miss men slamming into other men at high speeds...

Minor Things

I don't really have anything fascinating to stay, but I made a vow to write more so LISTS! (I do love lists, in case you haven't noticed.)

Play at the Plate

I should have written this earlier. Before our baseball world got imploded with Buster Posey's ankle. (I'm watching Sportsnet Bay Area right now. That is one quiet locker room. Oh, and pictures.) But I didn't, because I am easily distracted by shiny objects/the fleeting matters of my own brain so I'm less exuberant about last night than I would have been otherwise.

Anyway, I went to the Giants game last night. It was predictably cold. Those of you that don't have the pleasure of San Francisco summers, the main descriptor would be temperate. I have undoubtably mentioned before that it wasn't 'til I went to college in South Louisiana that I finally figured out why were wearing short sleeves at night on all those Braves broadcasts that Turner shoved down our throats in the '90's. "Oh! You mean you don't buy hot chocolate in July at night all over the country? Who knew?!" Not I, that's for sure.

So Tuesday night was one of those chilly weeknight games. Angela got a Kalua and coffee. The Giants lost. That all seems really trivial in the wake of our adorable, well liked, hard playing catcher getting bowled over at home and...we won't even guess at what the outcome is.

But before the game, and tonight's game, was dinner. OMG dinner. We went to Don Pistos. You guys need to alert me when something awesome happens in North Beach. This place was amazing. I meant to ask to bring a back of chips home to eat later because they were that good but by the time we got done sharing all the small plates, I was too full to remember. The flavors were all really fresh and bright. It was just so delicious. You can tell when something is being made with careful attention, you know? This was. Shrimp tacos, chicken tostadas, grilled pork chop, the beef with the fried eggs so the yolk oozes... Have I mentioned my new favorite condiment is egg yolk? Yeah. It is. This is why I will be fat forever. Between frisee, lardons and a poached egg at french restaurants, the ravioli uovo I had at Seven Hills the other night, a fondness for carbonara, and my penchant for breaking the egg yolk all over my roasted potatoes at breakfast, I'm pretty sure no matter how much I run, I will never ever get thin. This is a conundrum. I'm already trying to give up soda and potatoes. Not sure I can add egg yolk to that list. (We won't even mention my fondness for ranch dressing...actually, we will later. I'm gonna do another what I eat thing.)

So yeah. Dinner was awesome. Baseball? Well. We still have a WS trophy in the case don't we? No one can take that away.

Heaven and Setbacks

I went to the Giants game last night with Dad and Angela. I didn't go to Momo's, as per custom. I went to Pete's Tavern so I could watch a bit of the Caps game. 15 freaking TVs in Pete's and the Caps game was only on one. Pretty sure I was the only one watching. And we went into the game early so I didn't see the 3rd period. But that's cool. Thanks to Twitter it's not hard to keep up on the action and go "GOOD SASHA SCORE OT GOAL!" (Alex Semin does ridiculously boneheaded stuff and is often Bad Sasha. Then he scores gorgeous OT goals and is Good Sasha. Cuz I'm an expert now, y'all.)

The game was awesome. Hhheeaveen, even. It was exciting and back and forth and fantastic pitching and we had good seats on the promenade level. There didn't seem to be a lot of Dodgers fans there and the fact that no one was jerky, at all, and we had a really good time makes me excited to go to more games, and gets rid of some of the hesitant feelings I had.

The only minor problem was the four people a couple rows in front of us who don't know to only get up during breaks in the action and to sit down immediately once you get to your seat. We can't see over you! But they ended up being fine because after Lilly did his third pitch out with Huff on first, I yelled, "COME ON! Stop it with the pitch out! Huff's NOT gonna steal!" Guy in Huff jersey, part of the group of four, turned around and said, "I know, right?! He's my brother and *I* know he's not gonna steal." I don't know if it was really his brother but that was pretty funny. Truth is, after the next pitch it was a full count with two outs and the hit and run was on, so there was steal potential. Huff still wasn't gonna get far enough off the bag to get the cheap out though. Oh, and for all of Huff's flailing in right field this year, which has been painful to watch, he had a gorgeous catch in foul territory in the early innings. It was a really really fantastic game. Complete with warning to both benches after Lilly plunked Posey a second time. Related: I'm disappointed Buster doesn't go up to a Busta Rhymes song. I feel he should. (I've also decided for no particular reason that Busta is my favorite rapper. As if rap and the opinion of a 30 year old white girl (please don't make me use woman) matters.) So: game = awesome. Wait: amended on Posey. As I was typing, Andy sent me this. I think that should be Posey's walk out music.

I sort of gave up on being "good" yesterday, eating healthy blah blah blah. I did do OnDemand yoga in the morning though, so that's something. I am not flipping bendy. But I'm working on it. My hamstrings have always been incredibly tight, even when I had a trainer stretching them once a week. Since I no longer have a trainer they are way worse so it was good to begin loosening those up again. I woke up to a bag full of donuts from my mother and just figured, "Ahhh, screw it. Free day!" Her and I are playing a psychological warfare game. It's kinda awesome. I make her rice krispy treats and cookies, which she half yells at me for because I don't actually eat any of them and she does. So then she bought me donuts. Mother daughter relationships are special, y'all. So I ate two donuts. Then nothing else. 'Til right before the game when I ate a buffalo chicken salad because I knew a hot dog and garlic fries weren't gonna cut it, though I did eat that too. And I drank beer at the game, first time in three weeks consuming any discernible amount of alcohol. I was buzzed and fuzzy but not stupid drunk. And I then when I got home I felt soooo ill. Beer and garlic fries and a polish are not my thing anymore, apparently. So I feel like I ate a weeks worth of calories in one sitting yesterday. But I won't let this be a permanent setback. Back on the horse today.

About the alcohol: I used the fuzzy warm feelings as an excuse to check my stupid online dating account. That was dumb. I just wanted to delete messages, but they led to conversations and inappropriate bullshit comments from guys. There's a big long diatribe I could go into about my current mental state/issues with boys/myself blah blah blah but not currently in the mood to vomit that all over the internet so to sum up: I'm really happy being single. And I don't mean that in a "She doth protest too much" way where all your married/couple friends roll their eyes and go "Yeah right!" because who could POSSIBLY be happy alone. I really mean it. I'm finally holding out for someone I actually enjoy spending time with. I know, right? And until some guy can sit in a bar and watch a sporting event with me while engaging in witty banter, I'm cool on my own. Currently, not to sound all crazy dog person, but using the 35# dog as a pillow is a favorite past time. Like I am now.

Alright, I got a day packed of gym going, room cleaning, and football writing. Whee!

Fandom (Part 2)

I wrote about fandom before. And while all that remains true, that was an obviously tongue in cheek take on it, with some jabs at alternate fan bases.

Right now, Imma put on my serious face.

When Chuck and I went to the Sharks/Caps game, we were cheering for the Caps, opposing fans in the Sharks' barn (fancy hockey lingo!). At one point, when Chuck cheered loudly, the lady in front of us turned around and asked in all sincerity to Chuck, "Do you ever get in fights?" This was at first hysterical. You'd have to know Chuck. He'd go out of his way to avoid conflict before ever engaging.

But instead of just laughing, Chuck fired back with one of those off the cuff remarks that make Chuck brilliant: "Um. No. They get paid a lot of money to go out there and play. I'm not going to fight in the stands on their behalf." It was brilliant in its simplicity. Basically: Yes, I like the team, a lot. No, I'm not going to engage in violence for something that is settled violently on the ice, by guys paid 10x what I make to do so. My stake in the game is enjoyment.

He articulated my own sentiment pretty well. I'll jaw with a fellow fan, all through the offseason even, and then during a game. It will likely be incredibly good natured. "Nice pitcher! Lasorda asleep somewhere?" But when the game ends, I'm going to turn around and, regardless of the outcome to MY team, going to tell them "Good game!" Because it likely was. I got what I paid for, an evening of entertainment and fun. Now I'm going to walk away and look forward to doing it again. (And if I'm in the heaven that is Baton Rouge, continue drinking whiskey.)

All this has become an issue again because of what happened to Giants fan Bryan Stow when he went to opening day at Dodger Stadium. You can read about it, and are likely familiar with it, all over the internet. To sum up: He got beaten on his way out of the park and likely suffered serious brain damage because he was wearing Giants gear in L.A.

Because of that, what it means to be a fan, and what this tense rivalry means has been at the forefront of a lot of discussions. A week after the incident, the Dodgers are up here in San Francisco playing the Giants. The Giants dedicated last nights game to Bryan and before the game, both teams came out on to the field, together. Then Jeremy Affeldt said a few words about what the rivalry means, saying that as soon as the game ends, the rivalry ends, they walk off the field and are friends again. Watch it here. It's pretty damn moving.

He also did a radio interview earlier in the day where he pointed out what Chuck said: he gets paid a lot of money to go out there and battle everyday, this is how he feeds his family. He added that every win is important to them. While they appreciate the Dodgers/Giants rivalry, they want to win every last game. And no fan, anywhere, ever should be injured because of a rooting interest.

I've definitely seen Dodgers fans act like idiots in SF. I'm not saying it's exclusively them and that there aren't jerky Giants fans too (I had run ins with a few of our own jerky fans last year and it's why I hesitate to go to the ballpark this year). Last season I witnessed a 16 year old girl, acting older than that, use words against a guy that no lady should ever say for no real reason. I watched Dodgers and Giants fans jaw at each other outside Momo's after a game, posturing for a fight, guys on the main patio at Momo's egging it on while I told them to go back to the suburbs and yelled at the fans on the street to knock it the eff off. IT'S A GAME! That you aren't playing! How can your hatred run that deep? You have to let it go. You look at the scoreboard, win or lose, and know you get to do it again soon. Calm down, everybody!

I realize that anyone reading this, anyone I would ever associate with, is gonna don all the team colors they want but be more interested in the particularities of the athletics on the field than in whooping an opposing fan. That's how it should universally be. It boggles the mind that it can't be more civil. So, just, be on your best behavior, do it right, so that others may follow by example.

On a lighter note, early season thoughts...on facial hair:

1. I'm sorta digging Barry Zito's mustache. It makes him hotter. If not a better pitcher.
2. Sergio Romo's current facial hair configuration reminds me of the time Ted Mosby was cutting his post Robin break-up beard and kept coming out of the bathroom in different states of shaving. When he got to the look Romo is currently rocking, Lilly called him "Old timey Professor Ted". Old timey professor Romo?
3. Brian Wilson's face mane has gotten out of control. I'd like to see it gone. But I'm pondering the sheer economics of it. He has upped his marketability about a thousand percent with it, which means endorsement deals, and that translates to cold hard cash. So how much, out of curiosity, is that beard worth? And is it written in endorsement deal contracts that he can't, or under only very specific circumstances, shave it? It's gotta be a hassle at this point. Not just upkeep, which I imagine is a pain, but instant recognizability. He can't walk around the Marina undetected.

Barry Bonds (sports blogging)

TK wrote a really thorough and lawyerly post on why the Barry Bonds trial is a waste of money. I actually completely agree with his premise. But I'd still like to offer a counter-point. After trying my hand at sports writing once previously, I thought I'd give it another shot.

Just A Fan

I read skimmed a couple articles on women and sports and liking sports and the difficulties of being a female fan and OMG women talk about how the players are hot and guys don't want to hear that yadda yadda. I started to feel my hackles go up about it and thought about writing a thousand word screed on the topic and then I just...didn't have the energy to. So you'll still get a thousand words, it's just not gonna be angry.

Winning

I was gonna save this 'til I could speak rationally about it but, I can't sleep (and just got a text message), so why not now?

Wow. Just fucking WOW.

Here's the thing: We all knew this was gonna happen. We all KNEW we were gonna win. This team. This scrappy, rag tag mafioso of misfits and outcasts, we just knew. Somewhere in our bones we knew that this young, insanely good pitching staff would carry us through. That all those torturous close games all season long had just been a proving ground for us to handle any kind of pressure. That some bat, on some night, would come through when we needed it to. That's how it's worked all season long.

Not one superstar. Not even one regular star. Just a series of guys having fun, playing baseball, enjoying the hell out of it. There's the crazy like a fox, incredibly intelligent, but out of his mind closer. The journeyman first baseman who has never been on a winning team and his college teammate who was almost out of the game. There's the ROY candidate who they debated about bringing up from the minors. The guy we picked up off of waivers WAIVERS just to keep away from San Diego who ends up being the MVP of the NLCS.

And we knew. We knew going to Texas that we had this. We won games 1 & 2 decisively. We lost one. We regrouped. No one else knew. No one in the national media had any idea. But we knew.

But still. You're cautious. You have to be. As a sports fan, it is your duty to be pessimistic. You never ever say, "Yeah, we totes got this." It's jinx juice. You shouldn't even THINK overly confident. Because a good sports fan is always waiting for it all to come crashing down. For every nerve racking, torturous 1 run win by these Giants, there is a corresponding nerve racking, torturous 1 run loss. (Good god, look at that end of June stretch.)

And Giants fans? We've been here before. We've been so close and watched it implode.

But not this time. Because we totes got this.

Like I said yesterday, it wasn't this way all season. I think I attended more losses than wins. I shook my head in disgust at silent bats. I watched a miserable outing v. the Brewers in person. (A game that should have been about 11-0 and is not accurately reflected in the 3-0 that it was.) We watched Zito and Lincecum struggle. For most of the season we got just plain crazy Brian Wilson working us into a jam in seemingly every game. We grounded into double plays over and over and over again. We left men on base, something so frustrating that my dad said, "Well, at least we do it consistently."

But then. Then the stars aligned. Wilson, with the most saves in a season in franchise history, became a master of his domain. (I would say that started with going into the All Star game and just straight dominating.) Timmy found his rhythm. Zito didn't, but that's okay, others did. Cain, who for so long has been the quiet, steady pitching leader of this team, got the run support when he needed it. And a 21 year old from North Carolina who, and I will never get over this, bought his wife a bull calf for her birthday, just straight dealed. Cody Ross became a hero. Edgar Renteria became a hero. Pat Burrell...as Andy tweeted: In 2 World Series appearances, Burrell is 1-27 at the plate. And yet has 2 world series rings. Baseball. What's not to love?

And it was ours. It was gloriously and completely ours. That trophy, with all the pointy little pennants, was coming to San Francisco for the first time ever. EVER.

Orange and black never looked so good...

Baseball

People will tell you that baseball is boring. Those people will be wrong. I won't wax poetic on why it's not. Far smarter people have done that far better than I ever could.

I've mentioned before, several times, that once upon a time I loved baseball. But then I left it and developed a deep and abiding, though often times tumultuous, love affair with college football, which persists to this day.

Tonight I'll tell you the story of why I first loved baseball and how I came back to it.

Fall Sports

I still feel like crap. (Headed to Walgreens shortly for something to attempt to make me feel better. I also better have lost ten pounds by the end of this miserable illness.) But in the meantime? The sun is out, we have that glorious fall crispness in the air, and the next 72 hours can be devoted to obsessing about sports and for the first time in forever: I'm not alone! This can be done without looking insane! (In San Francisco. I never look insane in Louisiana. No, in fact, I look like a freaking Rhodes Scholar there [I jest. Kinda.])

The Giants are one glorious win away from heading to the World Series. Even if we implode tonight (fingers crossed this doesn't happen), we only need to win one of the next three. I don't have the stats on this (I am not a stats geek) (and geezus with the parens already), but I bet a team up 3-1 in a best of seven is more likely than not to take the series.

Additionally: LSU plays Auburn at Jordan Hare in the middle of the day. Every journalist with a blog seems to be picking the upset of LSU over the WarEagleTigersPlainsman. This means we'll probably get our asses handed to us. In a day game. At Auburn. Sigh. But I hope against hope that crazy old testament god let's us get through. I really hope against hope to have the most epic status update ever come Saturday afternoon.

Between LSU football and Giants baseball, I am sacrificing...something. My sanity? My good health, definitely. My going to the gym for sure. I will eat something fantastically awful and revel in the fact that I get to watch all this torture unfold. Don't let me down, GiantsTigers!

I would also like to thank those converts amongst us. Hop on this bandwagon! (Just behave yourself while on it.) To Michael and Chuck with whom I watch the LSU games and who email me about the schedule. And who will both be recipients of brand new LSU t-shirts to wear this weekend. To Cheryl, who apparently had so much fun watching a Giants loss (it being fleet week and us being at a bar probably helping matters), she texted me when she arrived back from Southern California to see if the Giants were still in it and if we could go watch at a bar. If I had the funds, I would seriously consider getting a ticket for tonight. But also considering I have exactly zero energy, it's just as well to let other crazy fans go enjoy it more. This also means I will not be watching at a bar.

As an aside: I am DEFINITELY going to a World Series game (if we make it. No jinx, no jinx, no jinx.) I've never been to one. Was away at college last time the Giants were in. And I don't think any of us went in 1989. I still, btw, am PISSED at my brother for rearranging his life to go to Giants games and the like (recently flew home EARLY from Vegas to watch the Giants clinch the division) but couldn't show up for two hours for my law school graduation. Yep. This is my brother. (He later paid for a keg as my present, though, so amends. Kind of. Know I won't be sitting through any more celebration of him crap for a lonnnggg time though. Sibling rivalry, it's what's for dinner.)

To my six year old football obsessed cousin, who without any encouragement from me, has decided that one of his favorite college football teams is LSU. I look forward to steering this kid in the right direction and in 12 years making sure he picks the Tigers on signing day (this half samoan kid is destined for duty as a lineman). I need to find an LSU game to watch with him so I can begin explaining the legend and lore of LSU football to him. And in a couple years when I'm an uber rich attorney (buahahahahaha!), I'll take him to a game. I will not let my Oregon Duck alum cousins corrupt him! No, I will not.

To Kathryn, who after one home game in Baton Rouge has begun crafting a plan for us to move there. With which I am in complete agreement.

I think I've decided that fall is my favorite time of year. It's even better when you're winning. Let's keep that going, mkay?

Cruise Control

I silently made a vow to myself (how else does one do it?...I mean I didn't blog about it, I suppose, or get all Scarlet O'Hara on the field), that I would get out there a little bit more. Spend less time staring aimlessly into the computer, screwing around, doing nothing. Well...I was feeling a little bit like this scene (one of my all time favorite movies, by the by). Apparently when I made this vow I didn't realize how much alcohol it would involve. I suppose it doesn't have to involve alcohol, but, well, it has. Not that I'm complaining.


And ya know what? It's been flipping FUN! This sort of post grad school let's relive undergrad rebirth? I'm enjoying myself. Immensely. I don't know if it's Indian Summer, I don't know if it's putting most of the various things that have happened in the past behind me, becoming more fully in charge of who I am...I dunno. But it's working, you guys. (More after jump...)

Don't Condescend Me, Man

Possibly one of the greatest movie scenes ever. It's how I felt on Thursday at the Giants game.

The problem with late season games when in a pennant race, as astutely observed by my stepdad, is that every bandwagon hopping, fair-weather fan suddenly shows up at the game and they do not have the sense of humor or wherewithal to deal with the usual occurrences of the game that those of us who have been going all season do. I, unfortunately, ran into one such "fan" on Thursday and it completely threw off my entire day.

I attended the game with my dad, Angela, and four of her friends, two couples. We had seats in club level that we were rarely in because they were directly in the sun and the sun is hot. Club level, it should be noted, are the nice, expensive seats. I wasn't in the rowdy bleachers or the upper view reserve seats. About the 7th inning I made my way down to our row of seats, beer and hot dog in hand. Admittedly, I'd had a few beers but was nowhere near drunk. I took the third seat in the row, next to two business gentleman. I ate my dog as Angela's friends came and went. I'd been in this particular one of our seats for no more than ten minutes. A couple seats down from me was Angela's friend Ed. As one does at the game, I crossed my legs and put my foot on the back of the chair adjacent to my seat. It wasn't on top of the chair, I wasn't kicking the chair like the four year old in the seat behind you on the airplane. I'm a grown ass adult and I had the audacity to, as I've done MANY times before, place my foot there. If anything it may have added a little pressure to the woman who was sitting there, but it certainly wasn't anything that any regular attendee of the game wouldn't have been used to.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post: I don't like being scolded. It throws me completely off. I don't know how to react to it. So when the man sitting in front of me turned around and suddenly swatted my foot down and tersely said, "THANKS" I was absolutely flabbergasted. Wait, what just happened?! I was caught completely off guard. Under normal circumstances, with normal fans, if the man had turned around and said, "Hey, can you move your foot?" it wouldn't have been a problem. I would have apologized for the inconvenience and moved my foot. My bad. But I've just been swatted at AND yelled at for doing absolutely nothing wrong (it took me awhile after the incident to get to the "No, really, you did nothing wrong at all" place). I KNOW I did nothing wrong because Ed, who witnessed the event, was completely offended as well, and the two guys sitting behind me, who also witnessed it, told me, "You should pour your beer on him!"

I am not a confrontational person. I am a smartass. I have a quick wit. I do NOT like aggressiveness or confrontation. I avoid it, as do most people. I don't want to be a troublemaker. I don't want things to escalate.

Ed asks me if he can say something. I tell him exactly as above, "Really. It's fine. I don't like confrontation." Ed asks me about four more times, "No, really, I want to say something." I demure and let Ed ask them if those are in fact their seats, if they have a right to be there, and although I don't hear what the man says to Ed, I am later informed that angry man questioned my mother's raising of me. Ohrly? My mom would cut a bitch for that, jackass.

I comment to the guys behind me, who are hysterically amused by all of this, that "I want my daddy." They think I am joking. I am not. I text my dad, "Can you come down here?" A) my father is a large, imposing man. B) My father is a police officer, which angry man will neither know nor be informed of. C) Because of A&B he is good in these situations. I'm trying not to overreact here but in a LIFETIME of attending Giants games, I have NEVER ever never been treated so rudely or disrespectfully. ALL the man had to, as outlined above, was say, "Excuse me, can you move your foot?" And like I said, it's not like I was a four year old throwing a tantrum, repeatedly kicking the back of his seat.

Dad makes his way down to our seats. I calmly tell him, "We have a little situation here," and outline what has transpired. Angry guy is purposefully not looking around or making eye contact. Dad says, "Excuse me? You have a problem with my daughter?" And angry guy makes what will easily be his biggest mistake of the day, "UH YEAH WE GOT A PROBLEM HERE! Your DAUGHTER was kicking the back of the seat! I asked her to move her foot!" "She says you hit her foot." "I didn't touch her!" Um, yeah, you did, there are witnesses, asshole. Dad says, in his negotiator voice, "Well let me tell you what the deal is..." Dad is going to go into his outline of the code section on battery (harmful or offensive contact with the person of another) when guy says, "There is no DEAL here, PAL!" Oh, dude, HUGE mistake. Massive. Giant, if I may say so. Dad says, and I didn't catch the last word but kudos to my dad, "I'm not your pal, bitch." They exchange a couple more phrases when my dad abruptly leaves. I don't know what he's going to do but I'm staying in the seat and I'm fairly certain this isn't the end of it.

The guys behind me are cracking up now for the free entertainment. "That's your dad? Holy geezus, no wonder you called him." I said, "Yeah, wait 'til you see my brother." My brother was also at the game, hanging out inside the club level, mere feet from me. He may be a neanderthal but when all else fails I have a 6'3" completely tattooed brother and I know when worse comes to worse, he's got my back. Guys also observe, "Dude is having NO fun now. Look at him. Doesn't have his arm around his lady. Just not even enjoying themselves at all." "What are we at the movie theater? Don't cross this invisible line!" Thank god for them, helping me relax. I was literally shaking.

At this point, right after dad leaves, wife, whose chair I had dared to touch, turns around and says, "Can that be the end of it? Can we just agree to enjoy the game now?" I tell her honestly, "I'm content enjoying the game now, but I've gotten my father involved and it's up to him." Angry guy has not turned around or apologized at all for touching me. So frankly lady, you're husband's a dick, I'm glad to have men in my life to handle these situations, and I may not be confrontational but there are those in my life that are. So suck it. (I don't say any of this, but I think it.)

Right then, and I swear to god I didn't script this, Angela's friend Steve returns to the seat, completely unaware of the events that transpired. Steve is also a big dude and kind of a goofball. We're all sort of nervously laughing when Steve says, "Uh oh. What happened?" He looks at me and says, "I'm sitting at least two seats away from you! You're trouble!" I about double over in laughter. I am sure angry guy can hear all the comments that are being made but isn't flinching. I also know that as a matter of pride, having fought for his seat at the Giants game, he ain't going nowhere. Nor am I.

Until I realize I have a missed call from my father. I return to the inside of the club level to find him and see Angela there with Doug. I don't know where Dad is. I start to relate the story to them, obviously excited, when Doug says, "Dude. Calm down. Stop yelling." Sorry! This is traumatizing!

As I'm standing talking to Doug, two cops walk through the club level. I happen to know one of them since pretty much birth, he used to be my mom's partner. We exchange pleasantries but I don't drag them into my drama. They return a couple minutes later with my dad. Dad tells them what happened and the one who used to be my mom's partner asks them what he wants to happen. Dad says, "I want him cited." A citation is like an arrest. You get a court date. You have to deal with it. Dad doesn't just want him thrown out of the game because it's the bottom of the 8th, not really a punishment. Dad says, "I'll sign the citizen's arrest form." I start to sprint down to the seat to get the guy, when cops tell me to stay where I am. They also have to tell my dad to back down because he's frothing now. If they leave it to my dad to deal with this dude, it is NOT going to go well for angry guy. Just as the cops are about to go down to the seat, having figured out where the guy is sitting and beginning their report, guy and wife come up the stairs to exit the game. They get detained by the cops. Dad is on the opposite side of the door from me, angry guy, wife and cops in the center, and then me and Angela. I hear angry guy's exchange with the cops, "We paid a lot of money for these seats..." A) No one fucking cares what you paid, douche. B) So did we (well someone did, if not ME exactly). C) Only a non-regular fan says something about how much they paid. He denies again having touched me. Later, in the police substation under the stadium he'll tell the cops, "Well they were drunk." The cops will tell them we weren't. And regardless, even if I'd been shit faced, it gives dude no right to TOUCH me. He'll then say, "Well she kicked my chair. Isn't THAT a battery?" Way to grasp at straws, jerk wad.

Dad makes his way over to standing by me and Angela so that I tune out what the exchange between angry guy and cops. But angry guy's wife makes another attempt, "What can we do to make this be the end of it?" Dad says, "It's too late for that. The cops won't let me talk to your husband, so I'm gonna tell you, you're husband is an asshole." I heart my dad. Lady says, "I accept what you are saying, and I'm sorry but can't this just end?" Did you just Psychology 101 us? Srsly? "I accept what you are saying"? I shrug my shoulders. AND I don't want your apology, I want your husband's. If he'd apologized for overreacting, this could have been done, but he didn't, and he continued to escalate things. This is the kind of guy where obviously this isn't the first time he's had a problem like this and the wife seems aware of it, hence her apologizing for his behavior. As funny guys behind me mentioned, "He's not getting laid tonight." Funny guys also high-fived me on their way out and thanked me for the entertainment. No, thank YOU.

Guy is escorted with the police to the substation. I have to go down there as well to write out an incident report. When I get to the substation, I have to hold in that I know everyone down there. Once cop who used to be mom's partner and I are alone and he's writing down my information like he doesn't know my home phone number by heart, he says, "You always were trouble. I told your mom since you were this big you were trouble!" Dad says, "Yeah, in fact that's why her mother and I split up, we couldn't agree on what to do with her." I die laughing. (This is funny because nowhere near true.) Dad's apologized to both of the cops for ruining their day by making them do actual police work. And that's the end of it, other than the continued nerves for the next couple hours.

So, yes, essentially I had a guy arrested (which is what a citation is, just instead of taking you to jail they cite and release you) for swatting my foot. It may seem like a slight overreaction but the way the guy treated me was SO unacceptable. Sometimes being a native San Franciscan with good connections isn't ALL that awful.

It also amazes me that a few days ago I can be in a stadium, in the South, with 93,000 highly intoxicated people without incident but I come to a midweek day game in freaking tree-hugging, hipster San Francisco and am met with such utter asshattery (tag reinstated). I'm thinking I'll just watch the post season on TV.

Fandom

Being a fan deserves respect. A fan of anything. You think bowling is the greatest thing ever? *shrug* Whatever. That's your call. Nascar? Sure. I'm not traveling to Darlington to watch it with you, but if you like it, who am I to judge? I once went to a WWE match with a guy I was dating. We all have things that light our fire, get us riled up, get us passionate about living. At least in between the time that we punch a clock (shut up, I know I don't have a job and no one actually does that anymore.) I draw the line at golf though. Golf is stupid. (I actually had a dream the other night that of all things my mom bought me clubs and I started playing. *cringe*)

Point is: I respect your fandom. I do. I hate the University of Florida (less and less as time goes by, actually), but if you went there and are an actual fan? I'll give you some good natured ribbing, and wholeheartedly expect it in return. It's only fair. In fact, discourse with opposing fans is what makes watching sports FUN. I will, however, totally call you to the mat if you a faux fan though, someone with no ties to a university or a team that has just band wagon hopped. And if you claim fandom and it turns out I know more about whatever university it is you went to, I will lose respect for you. Especially if you are male. And yes, I realize for a female I happen to know a lot about college football and a pretty good amount about most other sports.

So when I met a Dodger's fan the other night, a guy born and raised in Southern California (albeit Ventura County), I completely respect that. Only when it's the Dodgers fans at AT&T park trying to start fights will I engage in any disrespect. And even then, it's an elitist higher road kind of thing. Dodger's fans are trash. I will be elite and snobbish, as being a white wine sipping San Francisco fan gives me the right to do. I also show up in the 1st and stay through the 9th, so ya know, I win. But I won't suddenly be rude to said dude in said bar JUST because he's a Dodgers fan. He has every right to be. I mean, it's a poor life decision, but it's his.

Besides which: you never know who you're meeting. If I am rude and completely dismiss you, I may be missing out on the person that happens to work at a firm that I am interested in getting hired at and he likes me because I know my stuff. Not that I'm any big networking guru or anything but: every person you meet is an opportunity and you don't know where that is going to lead you.

The distinction is this: Lisa's rules of fandom: hate the team, not the fans. Unless the fans deserves it. (I'm looking at you, Red Sox nation.) You can't completely dismiss everything someone says just because they are a fan of X. Unless they went to Auburn. Then it's okay.

You should also respect the history of the game. I hate the Dodgers. I am not at all ashamed to call Tommy Lasorda a fat fuck. (This is how my father refers to him. My peace loving, hippie, pacifist father.) But: Don Drysdale, Sandy Koufax, Jackie Robinson and Ricky Branch. Kirk Gibson's home run. In my oh so humble opinion, to be a fan means to know and respect the history of the game.

The fact that the Dodger's organization is in disarray and being flushed down the toilet in family court with the McCourt divorce and the Giants are headed for what is going to be an EPIC September makes it easier to just dismiss the Dodgers fans, to pity them, rather than feel any hint of anger.

I like engaging in actual conversation about sports, an opportunity to discuss why your team is going to lose. I also enjoy someone who can tell me what's wrong with my team. Make all the Les Miles clock management jokes that you can. They are completely deserved.

Additionally: be realistic about your team. A true believer knows that sport is a business. I know I have hit this before but: your team's job is to win. Because to win is to make more money. And sport is a business, no matter what your beliefs may be. Even untainted college sports. Your loyalty to a particular player, while adorable, is quaint. Said player will leave if he is offered more money (See: Damon, Johnny and Teixeira, Mark). If said player is not performing up to the standard which will keep him on the team, be glad he got the chance at a second life elsewhere and his career wasn't just over, unceremoniously cut with no chance to continue making the money which he has become accustomed to. (Yes, Irene, I'm referring to your Bengie Molina adoration.) And change is generally good for both parties. Molina has received a new opportunity in Texas, who are also post season bound, and Posey? Need I say more? Buster flipping Posey!

I love J.T. Snow. I still love J.T. Snow. But I knew when his career was over and we needed a new first baseman. Pretty sure he did too. Granted, no one has come close to his defensive skills at first base since. But this is the way it works. I, once upon a time, loved Will Clark too. A sports career is finite. Think about it logically: if you were suddenly sucking at your job, costing your company money, would you expect your boss to keep you? Unless you work for the city, the answer is no. (Related: I need a job with the city.) Lisa's Rule of Fandom 2: Understand the business side of the sport. Are you a fan of the player or the team? If the team, then understand why a player is gone, mourn it briefly, and move on. A fan of a player? You are in for a lifetime of heartbreak with either the player moving for money or his career ending. And when someone gets traded from San Francisco to Florida you're gonna have a hard time enjoying the sport live. Point is: fan loyalty is expected, but continuously earned by the team. A player's loyalty to a team and a team's loyalty to a player are a complete fiction.

Now, excuse me while I pack all the purple and gold I possess to take a trip to the deep south to attend a football game. But only after I talk some trash on the back ramp at Momo's before and after Thursday night's Giants Dodgers game...