Three days in a city like San Francisco while watching three baseball games yields a lot of detail, so much so, that it's nearly impossible to write the entire experience. Here's a very short story about my trip to the bathroom on night one of the series.
The Padres had the lead and Corey Luebke held the Giants in check on an extremely cold Friday evening in the Bay. This would be Luebke's last game before discovering a torn ulnar collateral ligament. But that's not what made me have to pee.
Our seats were out in center field. It was late in the game, the temperature dropping quicker than the passing of each half inning, and a day of drinking in the city had caught up with me.
The closest restroom required me to exit the section, walk 20 yards past the Anchor Steam beer bonanza, and walk down a set of stairs. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I turned left and came upon a rookery of Giants fans.
They collectively stared, confused by the misplaced minority in Padres gear. Only one within the group had the temerity to address my presence, though. He was thin and stood about 6' 4" tall.
As he primed himself to speak he made a face -- a mocking upside down smile, puffing out a pouty lower lip. He then said these words exactly:
This is not a picture of the 6'4" Giants fan. But it is how he had dressed himself."Awwww . . . did someone lose a bet?"
I smiled and thought to myself, "Yes. Yes. It is I who lost the bet. I lost. Me. I'm the loser."
But I didn't need to say a word: His appearance was satisfaction enough.
I continued on my way to the AT&T Park commode basking in the glow of not only a Padres lead that would eventually bring a victory but the knowledge that I have a wife who would never let me leave the house looking like that particular Giants fan.
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