Bandwagon

“The fans sitting up there are helpless, they can’t pick up a bat and come down and do something. Their only involvement is in how well you do. If you strike out or mess up out there, they feel they’ve done something wrong. You’re all they’ve got. The professional athlete knows there’s always another game or another year coming up. If he loses he swallows that bitter pill and comes back. It’s much harder for the fans.”

Willie McCovey to Roger Angell, 1978

I never thought Stretch was the most articulate of folk, but he nailed it there, I think, it sounds right.  It's largely lost on me.  The closest thing to sacrifice I made for the Giants was choosing to go to a game at Candlestick in 1977 instead of going to hear Jean Pierre Rampal.  It was my 18th birthday and I'd spent all summer weeding the yards of the Tiburon wealthy listening to the Giants play.  Those were the days of Bill Madlock, Larry Herndon, Johnnie LeMaster and Bob Knepper.  I have regretted missing Rampal for years, but Jay let me drink beer for the first time supervised and I still remember the skunk taste of Heinekin, which I thought was actually good.  I have no idea who the Giants played or if they won.

I have been the worst sort of bandwagon fan.  All over downtown for the past month people have been dressed in Orange and Black.  T-Shirts and jerseys have been snapped up and green has exchanged hands.  I have contributed nothing, not even the "Let Timmy Smoke" T-Shirt given fleeting consideration.  The only dollars I spent that I would not have otherwise is the four bucks today on the 38 Geary; parking at Fillmore and taking Muni downtown after getting completely skunked on the Larkspur ferry early this morning.  It occurred to me as I watched the crowd resplendent that I have never purchased a team jersey or t-shirt of any sort.  Not for myself, nor as a gift.  I have owned Grateful Dead wear, Bob Marley, and Steve Earle.  I have had Guy Clark's Homegrown Tomatoes emblazoned on my chest, as well as Gillian Welch's sly lyrics.  I have bought Pink Floyd, Hendrix and Led Zep for the kids, perhaps even Slayer, and certainly the Beatles.  I have bought Monterey Bay Aquarium T-shirts ad nauseum, but not a single damn sports jersey.  The closest I can recall is the RKC sleeveless T I own that I bought along with my 32kg bell last February to show off my skeevy middle aged delts.  At least I can press that fucker now.

So there I was today at California and Montgomery in black Italian wool doubled pleated slacks and a pink dress shirt waiting for a parade.  I caught some shit for the pink shirt, but I do love this town and that alone was reason to turn out:

Cody Ross

 Brian Wilson, Lunatic

Buster Posey, don't know his politics but he looks like a young republican.

Pat Burrell

Andres Torres

It was a raucous crowd and it has been a wonderful time to be in this town.  I am no big baseball fan but people turning out, coming together, and forgeting the shit for awhile is a good thing.  Anything to postpone the pain of election day.

Sunday

Walk in the marsh with second son and first Labrador.

Tired and almost let it slip, but no, out back in pm for:

10+10 28kg rows

10 24kg Goblet squats

Presses, 5+5 20kg, 4+4 24kg, 3+3 28kg, 1+1x2 32kg.  All went well, no failed reps.

10 double bell deads, 28/32  132 lb deadlift is just too fucking easy and not sure why I even bothered except its an easy way to jack up the pounds moved.

3x

30/30 28kg swings, 20 x 6, had to drop to 24 gor 7-9 cause losing grip and back to 28 on last.  Ten total.

To Grandma's for Game 4.

Monday

Four miles, nada mas.

Tuesday

VO2 max, fast cause no time

16kg, 15/15 seven rep pace, x 52

plank work, sixty second front, 30 second sides, 3x, 25 sec rest between front and side.

Today

60 min Pradeep power class.  Smoking.

Parking lot calls and emails, buncha work, get home and immediate attention demanded.  This is the orange and black that sticks with:

It's been a blast, here is to next year; I will go to more games.