by Daisy Barringer
The Atlanta Falcons destroyed the 49ers yesterday in a sobering 45-10 ass-whooping. And yes, when I say “sobering,” I mean it literally because despite my fervent attempt to drink away the agony, no amount of $8.50 beer could numb the pain that was watching my team completely self-implode. And believe me, I tried.
When I agreed to write this weekly post, I didn’t think about what it would feel like to wake up Monday morning and have to relieve every agonizing moment of the previous day’s loss. Normally after a loss that bad, I hunker down in my house and watch crappy Bravo TV shows, avoiding any and all sports highlights, commentary or analysis. (Also, “crappy” in that previous sentence is code for “addictive and amazing,” but I think you knew that already. I mean, have you watched “Flipping Out?” So good.)
But here I am, wishing I’d been wrong when I correctly predicted last week that we would lose to the Falcons, still thinking the Niners will win the NFC West, but knowing that, even if we do, it’s highly unlikely we’ll win against any of the real football teams we’d meet in the playoffs. Of course, that may just be the doom and gloom talking; it’s hard to see the light when the highlight of yesterday’s game was our entire section singing a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" to our usher who had to wipe away tears when we finished. (I’m assuming this is because she was moved, and not because our section can’t carry a tune; however, I could be very, very wrong: see aforementioned beer consumption.)