Heart attack city.
I was riding the cable car home yesterday after work, announcing the play-by-play to other passengers who saw me constantly refreshing the gamecast on my Blackberry. I screamed with glee when the Giants scored to take the lead by 3. I hugged the parking attendants who were all listening intently to the radio. Hooray!
I arrived at Marc’s place, ready to watch the game live on TV. I’d texted him in the car, “Make sure to have the game on!”
He was sitting in the dark with a wool blanket. He had the game on TV. “I can’t believe I’m watching sports.”
For the remainder of the game, I jumped up and down like a spastic kid. “Oh my God, oh my God, I think I’m going to have a heart attack.” Marc’s dog Lulu stared at me curiously, head-cocked to the side.
“They’re so gonna lose,” Marc smirked from his side of the couch.
“Shut up, shut up! Or I’m going to leave.”
Half an hour later we were having celebratory drinks at Bar Agricole.