What is there left to say?
I spent all of last week worrying about yesterday’s game. I had anxiety nightmares every single night, including one where I had to step off of the top of the Golden Gate Bridge into the pitch dark and trust that I’d land on an invisible staircase that would take me to the game. The entire season was in the balance. If we won, the playoffs were a possibility; if we lost, we proved we’re exactly what our record says we are: mediocre at best.
I think you know what happened
(By the way, can you think of any other job besides a professional athlete where you actually want to work harder so that you can work more? Imagine if your boss told you today that if you really busted your ass and proved yourself, he’d give you an extra month of even harder, more intense work with fewer days off and even longer hours. I know that I, for one, would immediately slack off and start doing things like, oh I dunno, writing blog posts about football during working hours )
Back to football:
Things got pretty ugly pretty quickly yesterday. Singletary called a timeout before the Seahawks even got the first play of the game off. As if that weren’t bad enough, the Niners blew all three of their first half timeouts in the first NINE minutes of the game. I pretty much knew at that point we were done for, so I got eerily quiet for the remaining two and a half hours, speaking only to order another a beer and to yell “Go the f*ck back to Seattle!” across the bar at a Seahawks fan. (That’s apparently my thing. On game day, I can see no reason why anyone who wants to root for his home team dare choose to live in my fair city and I make sure that they all know as much.)
