Karen assured me that she and the girls had no desire, in this weather, to head across San Francisco bay – without tickets - to maybe possibly see a ball game. But that I should go, because, well, hope springs eternal, right? I mean, I've headed to games before with my friend Andy when neither of us had a ticket – there are always scalpers. Always. No problem.
Of course, those games didn't have the potential to send the Orange and Black to the World Series.
Did I mention hope springs eternal?
I shouldn't even try, if I could be honest with myself for just one second. But that's hard, the honest thing. Like baseball fans and players, I'm ridiculously superstitious. Take Leo, Leo who's been wearing the same Ludicra tshirt to work because the Giants have been winning since it's been on. And so, if I were honest, I shouldn't be making this trek because my forays to postseason games have garnered awful reviews. Karen and I went in '97, saw that stupid 3-0 loss to the Marlins. But we did run into my Godfather and his beautiful wife Diane. That was the best part of that night.
Torture in 2002. We saw a World Series game, the one game the Giants lost at home. 10-4. Stupid rally monkey.
2003, another loss to the Marlins, 3-1.
I shouldn't take my bad juju to San Francisco tonight.
The first sign of ill occurred when I spoke with "Ray" this morning. To read his backstory, kindly visit http://drinkswithnick.blogspot.com/2010/09/his-clothes-are-loud-ray-davies.html
I asked "Ray" how he felt about the Giants' chances, and after he collected his change from Leo - Leo wearing Ludicra - "Ray" tucked his newly-bought papers under his arm, and only then did he look at me and say, all confident, I'm getting on a plane to Philly tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. I'm getting on that plane because God hates me and because God hates you.
What "Ray" is saying is this: I cover the Giants for Comcast. If the Giants win tonight, no Philly trip. But the Giants will lose tonight. Guaranteed. Hence, I'll be taking a trip to Philly, to continue covering these Mad Men.
"Ray," I said. C'mon, they've got some magic going on across the bay, don't they?
God hates me, he said, and I'll be getting on a plane at an ungodly hour tomorrow.
If one were a tad bit prone to reading too much into the words of others, one might think that "Ray" was confidently predicting that the Giants would be putting their fans through torture this evening.