It was banging girls in bathroom stalls crazy. Our beloved San Francisco Giants laid waste to the Texas Rangers in five games. The entire series was a pure bitch slappin’ right in George W. Bush’s front yard. In a pure old school Red State/Blue State cultural clash of the titans, our long-haired hippy pitcher Tim Lincecum and our leather daddy bear closer, Brian Wilson, took the World Series victory home in pure San Francisco style.
Victory tasted sweet as the entire city of by the Bay took to the streets in celebration. There was no shortage of high-fives as all of San Francisco united under the banner of World Champions. In the Mission district, gang-bangers high-fived investment bankers; soccer moms hugged the homeless—sons gleamed high on the shoulders of their fathers in jubilant celebration of baseball prowess and city pride.
Once the game ended everyone spilled outside. This intrepid reporter perched himself on Mission Street in order to become a virtual high-fiving machine for the precession of screaming motorists in a mix of lowriders and sports utility vehicles. One of those rare times when hugging whoever you wanted become perfectly acceptable.
In typical sports victory fashion, spontaneous bonfires broke out in the middle of 21st street as fans danced around the blaze. Just when the batteries in my camera died a group of guys jumped on a hydraulic balanced car and started kicking the shit out of it; glass flew everywhere as headlights were stomped in and front hoods dented. Apparently the driver must have been a Texas Ranger’s fan.
Running. Mayhem. Victory. The riot police in full regalia quickly followed with batons poised as fire smoldered and high-fives continued. As Journey songs echoed in my brain the Giants win was Christmas, New Years and your best birthday ever wrapped up in one orange and black package. It was an evening where babies were conceived and named Madison Baumgarten.