Enroute to San Francisco, I saw glossy posters of people, waving happily as they hop into a plane. I realized what a lying society we inhabit.
Airborne inside the belly of a metal container at 30,000 feet above sea level and traveling at 500 miles an hour can do funny things to one’s guts.
San Francisco itself is art — above all, literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel, said William Saroyan.
It’s a place where people are not afraid to do things that are different, like a gender bender.
It’s not just about customs or traditions, nor rules of behavior. Nor is it about happenstance.
Where do people go? It could be a place where they could feel comfortable, where they could drink and talk with nutty gadflies; or to bars where they can eat all sorts of wicked things: from hotdogs and cinnamon buns, to every seafood (if it doesn’t eat you first).
There is so much one could admire about the village experience of the Castro district.
Last Sunday, the city went to the NFL Championship Game between the San Francisco 49ers and the Seattle Seahawks.
It is said that big games rarely live up to expectations — somebody chokes and things don’t go as expected.
My level of football intelligence isn’t going to win any awards for captivating prose.
Notes are worth nothing — they can only deliver bland reporting in utter simplicity about the game, down to its cue.
I’ll mangle famous football lines and I don’t know anything about divine connection.
But every conceivable fan seems swathed in superstition regarding the game. They simply wanted a win for the 49ers.
Part of the noise was the collective fury of incensed fans and the ugly snapping of Navorro Bowman’s right knee.
But the loudest sound was made by a million hearts breaking — the hearts of 49ers fans, as the 49ers window of opportunity slammed shut!
Valiant efforts were made, with the last drive so promising for their last great opportunity.
It became brutal, filled with profanity and tirades.
You have to understand the physicality of the game.
It is a rough game, full of adversity. People are in an indescribable frenzy and players are willing to plain — whether in cold, windy or snowy weather.
Fans’ reactions ranged from crowing, to being muted. Others tried to conjure some sort of divine intervention.
The streets of San Francisco was literally red and gold. However, the 49ers’ future suddenly became cloudy.
Sports pundits agree that carrying over great news from one season to the next is a different trick in the NFL. Players get old, contracts expire, salary caps get cut, luck runs out and injuries pile up.
It was a hard one to swallow — time to sift through the wreckage of another beautiful season, which ended ugly, according to a sports columnist.
On the other hand, some visitors crowed and gloated after Sunday’s games.
This game was dubbed a classic — between two teams that have forged the hottest rivalry in the NFL.
Two love-filled, laid-back and peace-loving cities proved that when it comes to sports, wanting to win badly can make you capable of hating anyone.
For me, that Sunday was the most perfect day in San Francisco — 70’s weather, with just a puff of wind that pushed the sailboats around.
