My days as a sports fan(atic) are over, I think. As a kid, it was always the NY Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers in the World Series. I always rooted for the Dodgers. I am an underdog kind of gal. Which is why I was a San Francisco 49er fan for decades. They would limp into the playoffs in the 70s, only to lose in the NFL championship game, to Dallas (and my Dad says that if they gave the world an enema, they'd put the nozzle in Dallas). Heartbreak, year after year. Then Bill Walsh, Joe Montana, Steve Young, and voila! Triumph! Only to sink again into obscurity. Sobriety cured me of my need for this adrenaline rush. But I sort of jumped up and down (in bed, scared the hell out of the pooches) when the SF Giants felled the mighty Phillies last night. I followed them before, back when Jack Clark was on first base, and Robbie Thompson on second, and Matt what's-his-name on third. That was back in the 80s, I think. They always dropped the ball in the end, too. Heartbreak. But I may actually watch some of the Series this year. Sort of in a nostalgic way. And I know little kiddo and her fiance are really excited about this surprising event, too. So, Go Giants! Whoever you are.
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