There I was, engulfed by a sea of Dodger Blue in the left field pavilion. I was a rarity, one of those guys that just doesn’t belong at Dodger Stadium. I wore my Halloween colors with pride: Giants hat, Giants shirt and pipes defacing Dodger Blue. Bottom nine, we’re up 3-0 and I am loving life. But after 30 minutes, four pitchers, a single, a boatload of walks, a goddamn booted ground ball and a grand slam later – well, needless to say, the rest is history.
With all the talks about the curse of the Billygoat, curse of the babe and what not, I’m starting to think that just Northern California as a whole is cursed.
The Giants and the curse of the rally monkey – since game six it seems like their bullpen just can’t get an out when it counts, the A’s and their inability to make it out of the first round despite those cushy 2-0 leads and my goddamned Kings and their tendency to magically transform from the team that can shoot the lights out to a team that more closely resembles a deer in the headlights that couldn’t hit the Pacific Ocean from my condemned-ass DP balcony.
The last big game the Warriors won was against the Kings – all that did was deprive the traveling choke-jobs of the Pacific title. The 49ers – well, the new look, penny-pinching Niner’s don’t look like they’re going anywhere anytime soon.
But, alas, while you Dodger fans remind me of Finley and Hermanson collectively, you depriving me and my Giants of our glory. Let me remind you of a certain Los Angeles basketball team. This team is damn good; they beat my hometown team three years in a row in the playoffs. Sound Familiar? No, my Southern Californian counterparts, I’m not talking about the Lakers, I’m talking about your favorite Los Angeles Sparks. After being trashed three years in a row by Lisa Leslie and company, Yolanda Griffith and the rest of the Sacramento Monarchs that grace Arco Arena a mere 15 minute drive from my parents’ pad blew up the Sparks in the Western Semifinals. The #4 seeded Monarchs went into the Staples Center in the third and decisive game of the Western Semis and routed the #1 seeded Sparks 73-58.
Steve who? I know nothing of an NL West-winning grand slam. I’ve forgotten Hermanson’s damn walks and Cody Ransom’s very untimely error. Robert Horry hit a big three pointer a few years ago against my Kings? Darren Erstad took Felix Rodgriguez deep in the World Series? These are details that no longer plague my nightmares.
No my friends, the curse of Northern California has been uplifted by Griffith and the Monarchs. The dog has finally had his day. I can finally talk sports shit without a comeback of, “when was the last time you won a championship?” Because yes – for once – NorCal came out on top over SoCal.
The Dodgers lost game one, the Angels lost game one, Shaq is gone, C-Webb is healthy and my favorite WNBA team is en route to a title. Things are finally looking up for NorCal.
Wait… What’s that ESPN? The Kings signed Greg Ostertag? The Monarchs followed up their epic upset by losing to the damn Seattle Storm? Fuck me. We are cursed. Someone gimmie a beer.
Daily Nexus assistant opinion editor Sean Swaby’s favorite movie ever is “Juwanna Man.”