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14th January 2008
ravenelectrick @ : Sporty Spec: Games of the Fantastic
Just wanted to mention a book which may be of interest to sports literature fans. It's called Sporty Spec: Games of the Fantastic, edited by Karen A. Romanko (yours truly), and it contains stories and poems by 42 authors about sports and games with a science fiction and fantasy twist. Sports and games covered include baseball, basketball, football, ice-skating, chess, Monopoly (board game), hunting, etc., so there should be something for all tastes. Surfing with werewolves? It's in there. A tennis match with death? We've got it. More information, including the full table of contents, is available here:
Sporty Spec is available at Amazon.com and other retailers:
24th July 2006
torstengone @ :
If you ask anyone who is Criterion Games, they will probably not know at all. Although, if they are a big gamer, they will know that the company has made Black, and the Burnout Series. As you know, the burnout series, and Black is mainly based on one thing, damage. You can cause so much damage on those games, it's not even funny. You can pretty much destroy everything in your path... http://game-era.com/review/id/12
10th October 2005
tordesjahres @ : Research on soccer players in TV commercials
Hello everybody, I'm doing a research on soccer players in TV commercials. The focus is on rather old spots (before 1985), but any of your memories will be helpful to me. Please post anything you can remember, from Peter Schmeichel for Reebok to the Nike spot with the Brazilian national team playing football in an airport. - The funnier, the better!
25th September 2005
mydeathserenade @ :
hey, I'm tonianne and I just joined here and I have a small request. I am HUGE soccer fan. Been playing since I was able to walk (my grandfather played in Italy) and I am in love with the MetroStars from the United States. I know some people don't think they're good but I believ they're a solid team. I was wondering if someone could write something centered around the midfielder Michael Bradley? I'm a big fan of his- he's a great player with a lot of potential- so I would really appreciate it if anyone could. I don't know if this is allowed though. Sorry if it's not. You can delete it. Anyway, I am willing to reciprocate. Thanks and I love this community. Just thought I would add that.
31st December 2004
gerbie @ : Hard Gras 39 – Zij waren beter (04-062)
Hard Gras 39 – Zij waren beter (04-062)
Title: Hard Gras 39 – Zij waren beter
Author: Several (Hugo Borst, Christoph Dieckmann, Anna Enquist, Georg M. Oswald, Barber van de Pol a.o.)
# Pages: 112 (11898)
Category: Sports (Football)
ISBN: 90-204-0654-X (3-89533-468-5)
Many Dutch people have two major traumas when it comes to Germans. The Second World War is an obvious one, but for many of us, born afterwards, the trauma of 1974 is even bigger. Losing the world cup final is worse than 5 years of war, in the eyes of many. Laugh, ridicule, but this is how things are, better take it seriously.
The editors of Hard Gras did take it seriously and came with a themed number, 30 years after the fatal 7th of July 1974 (on par with where were you when JFK was killed, the first man on the moon etc.). It did so by not just asking Dutch authors to write something, but also several German authors. Hence this book can be read in two languages. On the front one sees the fatal dive Hölzenbein took when he saw Wim Jansen’s leg to gain a penalty for the Germans (and fame for the rest of his life as a diver), turn the book around and one sees Sepp Maier German goalie with the world cup on his head, one can read the same book in German.
Apart from the standard class piece by Hugo Borst (‘wo is hier der Altstadt’, asks a German in Rotterdam. A cynical joke, as the Germans bombed that city in 1940), the highlight for me is the story by Dietmar Jacobs. He has to invite two dodgy locals into his home to watch the final, but regrets this a lot, when they turn out to be even worse than he anticipated and he ended up in hospital after one of them fell on the table and dislocated his jaw. Funny story, great end.
History and football do go together. This volume proves that.
29th October 2004
gerbie @ : Eduardo Sacheri – Esperandolo a Tito (04-052)
Eduardo Sacheri – Esperandolo a Tito (04-052)
Title: Esperandolo a Tito
Author: Eduardo Sacheri
Language: Spanish (Argentina)
# Pages: 222 (10150)
When I travel, wherever I go, I visit bookshops. Even in countries where I can’t speak the language I have to sniff some books. In Buenos Aires this summer I visited some really great book shops. Only the complexities and costs of sending a parcel home stopped me from spending way too much money on books. I did buy one book though; I even started reading it, even though I was reading another book at the time.
I picked this book, because even though it is about football, it didn’t seem like just another sports book. It certainly isn’t, I soon found out. Short stories about the game the Argentines love with a passion, written by a young author with a great sense of humour. I own the seventh edition, so six editions have been sold out before.
The title story on itself deserves all praise one can think of. Two groups of young boys play a match once a year. Their street against ours; haven’t we all played a match like that when we were young? One of the friends of the story teller was particularly good. He won the match on its own for years running. When he got older though he became a professional and couldn’t play they lost year after year. They are adults now, but they still play once every year. The scores are even through out the years. Yet there is hope. Regardless of his contract in Europe, the star announced he will play the match in Buenos Aires. Obviously his club shouldn’t know about it, so he tells them his mother is ill. Yet by the time the match is due to start, he still hasn’t arrived. So the waiting starts..
14 more stories follow this one. Some about himself (following his team all the way across the country without telling his mother), others about the old days (the goalie that didn’t concede a goal for over 2 seasons). Some sentimental (please God, let there be a pitch in heaven), others humorous (changing your team because you fall in love). Even though it sometimes was difficult to read the Spanish; or Argentine Spanish in this case, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It deserves a translation, I’m sure many football fans in England and the Netherlands would enjoy reading it.
6th October 2004
tbone @ : Crossposted: onehundredwords
I don't really care about the team.
I don't care about most of the fans.
I don't care about "The Curse."
I do care about Grandma.
She's the nicest person you could ever meet, and she's been a Red Sox fan since she was born.
She met her husband on the baseball field.
Every Boston game that's on the satellite is the priority for that day.
For every game, she takes out her worn, lucky Red Sox pin.
Of course, there's never been anything lucky about this team, but I don't need to tell her that.
25th September 2004
2_broken_wings @ : Calling all Iditarod writers
I have a rather bizarre request, and am so glad to have stumbled upon your community. I'm a big fan of the Iditarod, and just something random I decided to see how much writing I could find and read on it, published and unpublished, simply for enjoyment. I've found a lot, but absoltely no poems. Does anyone know of and Iditarod/dog-sledding poems floating around on here?
13th June 2004
gerbie @ : Hard Gras 38 - Acht spitsen (04-032)
Hard Gras 38 - Acht spitsen (04-032)
Title: Hard Gras 38 - Acht spitsen
Author: Several (Jana Beranova, Simon Kuper, Per Holmer a.o.)
Language: Dutch (some translated)
# Pages: 112 (6076)
With the words EK-special on the front cover and a big picture of Van Nistelrooy, the series is trying to lift on the popularity of the European Championships. Understandable, yet unnecessary. The series has success because of it's timelessness, because it does not follow the hype of the moment. Because it does not do interviews by journalists, but stories by authors.
Reading this volume this becomes even more evident. J. Rentes de Carvalho writes an article about Portugal and its economic depth, its culture, though the title suggests it is about Figo. Apart from parking in a space where Figo once parked, there is no link with the star player. Interesting story though. Jan Mulder writes about the similarities between the football player he once was and Ruud van Nistelrooy nowadays. Luigi Garlando tells the struggle of Christian Vieri to become the star he is nowadays, with the emotional visit of his grandfather to a match of his grandson. Pavel Srut compares football to poetry and uses Jan Koller to clarify this.
Not so much about football, therefore even more interesting than often. Shame about the marketing trick.
27th June 2003
deathbytamarind @ :
theendzoneHey football fans! Training camps are about to begin,and you know what that means right? Football season is upon us. In theendzone, you can keep up on all current NFL happenings. And if you want,you can become the weekly editor for your favorite team! This does not, however, exclude anyone from writing about football. Our main purpose in this community is to have a team of editors who hold the responsibility of reporting about their team on a weekly basis. What we require is very little. Just have a love for your team and a knowlege for your team,and report on it. Write about training camp happenings, trades, free agent pickups, weekly game wrapups, or even a serious( or not so serious) article like you may see on ESPN. We have just started and so far we have six editors, but we are looking for members and editors right now! So come join, and have fun. Serious football fans and writers only!!
18th May 2003
gerbie @ : Hans van der Meer, Jan Mulder & Jan Plekker – Keepers (03-014)
Hans van der Meer, Jan Mulder & Jan Plekker – Keepers (03-014)
Van der Meer is a photographer who a couple of years ago made a brilliant book about football fields. Somehow he managed to take a picture of an ordinary pitch, anywhere in the country and turn it into a landscape of mythical proportions. I was well impressed. Similar to that book he then continued taking pictures of goalies everywhere. And again they do not fail to impress me. A goal keeper is a loner in a team. Germans have a nice word for it: “ Einzelgaenger” So every picture depicts a lonesome hero, somewhere on a field in the Netherlands or Belgium.
In between those pictures there is a letter exchange between Jan Mulder, columnist, tv-personality, ex-professional football player and Jan Plekker, a goalkeeper himself. Also nice to read, though they do not have anything to do with the pictures. I think it is one of the most expensive books I ever bought, nearly a euro for every picture in the book. Yet it is all worth it.
13th May 2003
thingsfalnapart @ :
I wrote this one at a mariners game last year. Why not write a poem about baseball.
The warm sun beating down
A feeling of soul rebirth
Faith and hope inside runs
Along with the seconds worth
Watching from the outside
With much fear and much awe
Every living moment silent
As the closing seconds draw
Our human lives come second
To every motion we follow
We become part of the moment
Untill all noises turn hollow
That one very simple second
Everything in life will change
All in the world becomes one
And it may even seem strange
After the simple time passes
Where every person became one
We all may realize our unity
This feeling is second to none
8th January 2003
divisionvixen @ : The Real Thing: Qualcomm Stadium, 1985-2003
The Real Thing
The song lyrics quoted herein belong to their artists: Andrea de Valois, Michelle Branch, Tonic, The Calling and Sarah McLachlan. The memories are mine and mine alone, though I know the dream has been dreamt by many. To all those who made it possible, because lives have never been the same since.
The summer of 1998 was perfect; nothing could have gone better. It is the highest point I have ever known, the moment when everything was validated, when I touched heaven, in my eyes. When Proposition C got through in San Diego, I was among those cheering that victory.
I knew what it meant. I knew it meant leaving. I've always known it, but now I stare it in the face, and things become different. The only true place I've ever known has been Jack Murphy Field. I can never just leave it behind. So I talk in my sleep
Just to hear your voice again
And I walk through my dreams
Hoping that my tears will end
I can only hear the rhythm
No one in my family can remember when my first Padres game was. I've just always been going. I cheated death by virtue of being a Padre fan.
I am disabled, and in my early years I was fighting for my life. But the heart, spirit and ability that I saw in San Diego inspired me to fight on, flowed into me and stayed with me. I went on to play baseball and street hockey. I should have been dead.
It's not just the fence-jumping catches and speedy baserunning that made that happen. It was the soul of the fans, the players, everyone involved. That's a mystical force I've never seen anyone else match. When I'm inside those walls, everything is okay, anything is possible. Every time I have felt weak, I have run there and come out feeling strong. This is my sanctuary, and I need it like I've never needed any other place in life.And I wanted to fly, so you gave me your wings
And time held its breath so I could sing, yeah
When I was alone, you came around
When I was down, you pulled me through
And there's nothing that I wouldn't do for you
I have a lot of role models in my life because I've had the blessing of being around so many people. Given my vocation, many of them are actors, writers and directors - Jon Favreau, Jeremy Piven, Aaron Sorkin, John Cusack, and so forth. But my heroes have always been Padres. Tony Gwynn, Trevor Hoffman, Brian Lawrence, Adam Eaton, Mark Kotsay, Eric Owens, they have always been the people I've looked to when I don't know the answer.
They're just athletes, I've often been told, they're not psychics or scholars (although some of them are smart and accredited, I point out defensively). That's not the point. They possess a stronger heart than anyone else I've known. They have a faith that stays through every crisis they face. They have a limitless compassion and they stand for something. I learned I had to stand for something.The power you hold
Is a power that mends
The power inside
Is a power that heals
Through all the tragedies in my life -- and there have been fatalities, midlife crises, crises of faith, crises of conscience, tough decisions, you name it -- I've always rooted myself to my San Diego ties. Living in that city, experiencing that life, is who I am. And at the heart of that is Padre pride. And in Padre pride is a respect and reverence for the stadium.
It's the stadium where I got to see Tony Gwynn's induction into the Padre Hall of Fame. It's the stadium where I was there as they clinched the 1998 NL West championship en route to their best year ever. A World Series has been played here. It's the stadium where I cried, laughed, loved, lived, died. You don't ever forget that.You were always invincible in my eyes
The only thing against us now is time
I'm more defensive of my team and my stadium than I am of a lot of things. I'm more defensive of that then of my own family, from whom I'm estranged. When a classmate decided to taunt me about how the NFL doesn't like the stadium, I nearly punched him. Badmouth my team or my town or my stadium, and I'll take your head off.
Bizarre behavior? Maybe to a point. But it comes from a place of love. In my world, you don't let a threat to you or yours go unchallenged, and my Padres are like family. My San Diego, my stadium, is like our home. My life's rises and falls can be charted with the seasons, some of my best memories have been written in the aisles. I've never felt the same as I do inside those walls. They gave as good as they got from our passionate fans, and I hope I can only give something back. If you don't say it, it can't be goodbye.To be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love
For it's in giving that we receive
And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned
And it's in dying that we are born
To eternal life...
divisionvixen @ : The wheel of torture: a poem.
A poem for all the Chargers fans out there, now reduced to watching Wheel of Fortune.
I'd given up Jeremy Piven on Lifetime
To watch Drew Brees in that other game show without lifelines.
So feeling a little quirked, I sat down to see
If he was as good as I thought, they would be history...?
Jeff Garcia knew the answer a little too late
The solution went to Drew, perhaps a twist of fate
He and his partner won, went to the next challenge
Such good guessing the answer was almost at an end
Since there were like no letters left, they won that too
Became supreme champions for this day, this woman and Drew
I sat at home, stopped thinking of Jeremy Piven,
Thought, "What the heck, not a bad form of living"
Because we may not be in the Super Bowl this year,
But Drew Brees' performance kicked Shaun Alexander's rear.
And for Chargers fans who are just proud to see it,
It's some kind of success and happiness, and that's the real treat.
28th November 2002
deathbytamarind @ :
I finished my paper for my History of Broadcasting class, on Pete Rozelle. Included are the MLA references in brackets and the bibliography at the bottom of the page, in case you think I'm a big fat cheater. ( Pete RozelleCollapse )
10th November 2002
brightillusions @ : Some help.
I am in the process of writing a story involving Jason Giambi and Derek Jeter, and to be honest I know little to nothing about both of them. I've done some research but I'm not finding what I need to know. Any Yankee fans out there willing to tutor me a bit in the Yankees, who hangs with who, who hates who and dates of when people were traded?
Any help would be greatly appreciated. =)
28th October 2002
deathbytamarind @ :
Time, like champagne after a well-timed victory, flows. It’s April and you’re sitting in your cubicle, cheered from the new baseball season starting up. Baseball’s back and it’s serving you like it always has—it’s an escape. He fucked up one too many times and you just showed him the door.
You sell your soul for a few seats in the rafters at Pac Bell, anything to get your mind off what’s really going on, and to enjoy baseball freely again.
You remember why you loved the game in the first place. Your team refreshes you on why you’re really there.
You tempt your otherwise non-sporting friends out to the yard once or twice a month over the summer. You quickly become an expert on the Oakland A’s, you’re the pipeline for news, developments and slices-of-life about the team to your friends. You fall hard for a certain Oakland third baseman; and you see the greatest in today’s game in a new light—he’s human, he’s just a man, but he stands above everyone else. He boggles your mind and steals your heart, and no matter what anyone else says, all you can utter, “He’s not so bad.”
It’s the days before your birthday and it’s hot. The late spring sun at the Coliseum has burned an odd mark onto your cleavage and you’re watching the A’s slide, slump and stumble. You begin to question Oakland’s talent, and you silently remark that maybe the Giants are the team to beat by the Bay. After all, they’re doing better.
Then, the game for your birthday, the A’s wake up. They begin to tear ass through the American League. The Giants make the NL West a three-horse race. Has there ever been a better time to be a Bay Area baseball fan?
The summer brings you back to what you knew you loved but couldn’t access.
You watch the season close itself out by the A’s untouchable run of twenty straight victories, which set everything around you abuzz. You thrill in the heroics of Tejada and shake your head at the dizzying filthy curve that Zito victimizes American League hitters with. You watch the Diamondbacks limp along, and you hope against hope the Giants leap ahead and take the division.
No such thing happens, but you’re pleased with the Giants post-season appearance, although you have no expectations for them. After all, they’re playing the Braves. Maddux and Glavine, the usual suspects, rattle your nerves. Smoltz out of the pen? Millwood starting too? You lament. It’s gonna be a quick exit for the Giants.
You’re taking World Series bets for the A’s. You back Chavez for World Series MVP before he even steps into the box to face Moe Jays* and the Twins pitching staff. You bitch about the ungodly price of a bleacher seat but kick yourself in the rear for not being there.
Then the A’s drop the series against the Twins and you’re so ticked and shell-shocked you don’t even notice the Giants won their series against the Braves. Onto the NLCS for your favorite team. All right.
The Giants spit in your face for expecting zero from them. They make you believe again. They ransack the Cardinals in five of the sweetest games you’ve ever seen. Tears leak from your burning eyes as you watch that Kenny Lofton bloop sail into right field and see David Bell chug into home. Your desktop on your computer is a picture of the Giants dugout exploding after the winning run is scored. Rich Aurilia’s feet don’t touch the ground. Livan Hernandez flies out of the dugout with his arms outstretched. David Bell’s jersey is untucked, red from the dirt, and he looks like he’ll either puke or cry.
You do both.
The Giants take the World Series to its very limit. After the outburst of 16-4, you’re convinced this is it. You know. You’re ready. You can’t concentrate on work. You feel like you’re going to vomit.
You check the score to see Ortiz pitching like he’s used to. You watch him leave and Dusty Baker give him the ball. You smile and a lump forms in your throat. This is it, you think. My God, this is it. I can’t believe it.
You don’t believe it when you see the horror of Worrell and Nen getting rocked hard. After the meltdown of your team’s money relievers you put your head down and go to a movie. Anything to escape.
You can’t even watch Game 7. It hurts too much.
The Angels win the World Series, and you’re pissed off, crushed, disappointed. But you look back on the year and you’re so proud of your team you could burst.
You look down at your orange nails and you swallow back that lump. Damn, it’s been one hell of a year, you think.
Time, like tears after the most improbable seven games you’ve ever seen, flows.
2003 is only four months away, and your team will spend all of the 2003 baseball season as National League champions.
You lost, but you gained.
It’s the end of the season as you know it, and you feel fine.
*footnote. Moe Jays is a reference to Joe Mays and it’s an inside joke. Thanks.
abenn @ : Well, you did say "sonnets"
Now ends October, long the time of year
When baseball's best do battle in the field
And at the plate, until it should be clear
Who is the best, to whom all else must yield.
As every year, we watched teams' fates revealed
We cheered defensive plays, and runs so fleet
Applauded hits; hissed errors, calls appealed
As each team gave their all, to best compete.
Full twenty-nine have tasted of defeat
While one alone reigns, champions without peer
Their fans now savor victory so sweet
While all the rest of us must shed our tears.
--So say farewell, this season's at an end
--Till April, when we meet, and hope, again.
27th October 2002
medeas___child @ : On being a fan...
Before the seventh game, I'd like to congratulate the Giants and their fans. No matter how it plays out, both teams had great seasons. As cliche as it sounds, it's a shame someone has to lose. I find myself almost wishing that they'd call it a tie, make 'em both co-champions, and end the season.
And you know, I look at that last sentence, and can't believe I wrote that. I've been a sports fan all my life and am, in general, a pretty competitive person. I play in fantasy leagues for baseball, football, basketball, and hockey, and, I daresay, I win more than my fair share of titles. (I consider a .500 season a failure, by way of example)
Not just fantasy sports, but REAL sports, has dominated my life. It makes me self conscious to think how a win or loss by one of my favorite teams can set my emotional tone for DAYS. The intellectual part of me realizes how stupid this is, I know. (How does one athletic event measure in comparison to world hunger and strife?)
But I'm not going to change. I don't WANT to change. It may be silly, anti-intellectual even, to care about sports as passionately as I do. My response would be: "So be it, then."
People speak denigratingly of "bandwagon" fans. Many seem to take offense at these "johnny come latelies", as if their own loyalties are being somewhat impugned. I don't share those feelings, and yet I think I understand why they exist. "Bandwagon fans" will quickly get over their team's losing and hop on the next bandwagon. They won't suffer a loss as a "true fan" will suffer.
I don't share such scorn because, to me, being a fan is, I daresay, a little like being in love: You get out of it what you put in. Should the Angels win tonight, my joy will FAR eclipse that of ANY bandwagon fan--so would the joy of my Giant fan counterparts should they get the victory. I do not, therefore, begrudge the bandwagon fan their relative lack of emotional pain, because they won't feel the joy a long time fan would.
So why, right before the last, most important game of the season, do I find myself with these "milquetoast" feelings, being melancholy that one team has to lose? Sports is, after all, ABOUT winning and losing.
Perhaps because I know how it feels. I remember 1986. I can imagine how a long suffering Giants fan feels about his team trying to win the championship for the first time since 1954 (and that's assuming s/he was a fan when the team was still in New York). I can imagine this, after all, because the Angels have NEVER won it.
And moreover, should the Angels win, my joy would be tempered by reflecting on how disappointed my Giant fan friends (deathbytamarind
, to name one) would be.
All this, too, is "just" what it's like being a fan. Imagine what it's like being a participant
. For someone like Bonds, Dunston or Appier (older players who've never won a championship), this may be their ONLY chance at the brass ring.
Bill James once wrote:
"We might remember that while it is, to us, the climax of the show, it is, to the participants
, like witnessing a death in the family, the death of a dream which they have nurtured for months or years, have fought hard and worked hard to bring to the eadge of reality. We've never been through anything like it, most of us, but we must imagine that situation as a firestorm of hope, fear, dismay, pressure, hope against hope and hope against the stark terror of the scoreboard."
Then there was Gus Triandos, a catcher for the 1964 Philies, who blew a big lead to miss the World Series. He spoke of the celebration which never happened:
"Some men wanted to pour the champagne. Some wanted to guzzle it. Some wanted to spray it.
I just wanted to taste it."
Some people's dreams will come true tonight, at the expense of others, whose dreams will die. As ultra competitive as I am, I've always tried to remember that. However happy I am in my team's victories, I'll feel compassion for the losing team, and their fans.
Should the Giants win tonight, I extend to them, and their fans, heartiest congratulations. Should my Angels get the victory, I'll take a moment to honor those same individuals, in whose shoes I myself have walked. Many, many times.
And now, as Shakespeare wrote: "Once more, into the breach, dear friends".
23rd October 2002
deathbytamarind @ :
If I could color San Francisco anything, I’d color it gray.
No bother, gray’s my favorite color. When I was there yesterday, it looked to me like an endless expanse of gray; from the BART station to the Embarcadero and all the way down to Pier 39.
It spit rain on us all day. It couldn’t keep the crowd from the San Francisco Giants rally.
A healthy gathering of orange and black clad folks crowded Justin Herman Plaza in the city. Signs abounded. We bashed the Rally Monkey. A good time had by all.
Joe Santriani, the famous and talented guitarist, played a few numbers, the national anthem, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and “Smoke on the Water,” a ninth-inning favorite at Pacific Bell Park.
The rally was led by the crew of the John London Not Just Sports Show on KNBR, the local radio station that covers the Giants. That in itself was cool.
Also featured was the KNBR broadcasting team. Joe Angel, Duane Kuiper, Mike Krukow and Jon Miller. Some of you may recognize Jon Miller from national ESPN broadcasts. This was also cool.
Then, some guys named Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal and Orlando Cepeda were on stage too.
Not only was I just feet away from my journalism heroes, I could have shaken the hands of Mays, McCovey, Marichal and Cepeda.
I think my jaw just about fell off.
I got very starstruck and just kind of stared at them in awe. I considered asking them for an autograph, or a handshake, or something, but I didn’t want to infringe upon them. It almost felt sacrilegious to ask them for such things. I didn’t have a camera with me, partly because I’m broke and partly because I’m absent-minded, but even taking a picture of them, it felt wrong. It felt like all I had a right doing was stand and stare.
But it felt right to just admire the greatness from afar. I can never achieve what they have. I am merely mortal.
It was awesome.
The rally itself was enjoyable and raucous. Many Giants fans yelling our heads off and celebrating our team.
Yes, it was worth going across the Bay for one measly hour.