Crying foul
I should have taken my own advice. On my family’s Web site where we sell our Giants’ season tickets, I had written this to entice people to buy baseball tickets from us: “Bring a mitt. Foul balls come our way.”
Last Wednesday, sure enough, a foul ball came my way. A line drive, hit hard, screamed toward me from several hundred feet away like a heat-seeking missile. My initial thought was: holy sh–. It’s coming my way!
So I stood.
And in those three or four seconds, I had these frenzied thoughts:
I can catch it!
Wait, it’s going to hurt!
But I can catch it!
The ball was above me. I knew I had to reach high above my head and jump a little for the ball to hit square on my palms. Should I reach out and touch someone, or in this case, something? I was at AT&T Park, after all. But did I really want to hurt my hand, maybe break it, for a stupid foul ball? Read more
My hometown: full of anti-war, dog-loving zealots
I’m always apprehensive when the national media descend on San Francisco. More often than not, it’s to poke fun at my hometown and portray it as full of wacky, liberal heathens who are out of touch with the mainstream. Even more so now that Nancy Pelosi has stepped onto the national political stage and is a threat to the right, making her and the city targets.
Two recent national stories - one on San Francisco’s school district and the other on the city’s powerful dog lobby (haha!) - simply make me proud of the city’s open-minded and progressive nature. Read more