Four years ago I was regularly called a bandwagon fan when I mentioned my support of the San Francisco Giants.
I started following the Giants in July or August of 2010. The guy I was dating at the time is a fan as is one of my best friends, who I worked with at the time, so it was easy to watch a game when he had it on and then talk to her about them too. That guy and I broke up in August of 2010, but I kept watching, aided by the individual TVs at the brand new gym at Sac State. I lost a pant size or two and watched the guys reach their first victory since the team moved from New York in 1958.
If you know baseball, you’ll know that August is too early to know which teams will be in the playoffs in October, so if I was already watching, I definitely wasn’t the bandwagoner many people called me during the post-season and into the 2011 season. The type of people who call other fans bandwagoners though? They don’t really care about details like that.
I really wish that some of those people could see me now.
In case you don’t follow baseball (or me on twitter), the San Francisco Giants won the World Series last Wednesday and it was wonderful.
Wednesday itself was kind of awful for me, what with being sick enough that I ended up going home from work at 10AM. But nothing was going to keep me from going to Cheesie’s to hang out with my new Giants fans family and watching my boys play the last game of their third World Series in 5 years. That’s actually why I went home sick. I knew I wasn’t going to make it through both work and the game, so my options were to go home before the game and sleep, or try to make it through both and definitely have to take the next day off, also possibly passing out during the game.
When I got to Cheesie’s, most of my crew was already there for the first time in the post-season. See, the day before was the first day that I was not there early, meaning that we did not get seats until I got there and wrangled some up a couple innings later. Even though they were already there, I still had to play the mother-figure and secure us seats. As soon as I did, the lovely Morgan went out to get gummy bears and brought me back some cough drops, which definitely got me through the game.
At some point in the night I ended up noticing how swollen my tonsils were and when 22-year-old Toby seemed to not really believe how sick I was, I had him feel my neck. His eyes got wide and I think he gained a whole new respect for me. Plus, he now knew why I was only consuming cough drops, gummy bears and liquids. Anything else would have been torturous to swallow!
I decided after the first inning that if I was going to be there all night, I might as well have my normal cocktail. I mean, the alcohol would only kill the germs, right? Well, that’s when the final piece of my normal viewing habits fell into place and the Giants immediately scored two runs. You’re welcome San Francisco.
I’ll spare you all the details of the game, the important part was that it was wonderful and my boys won and the whole bar went crazy for a good 20-30 minutes (we’re not in SF guys, it was later in the evening for us and our bosses didn’t understand if we needed to not show up the next day) which included me dancing to a few songs on the high bench I’d been sitting on all night.
I knew that I would feel terrible the next day, but in the moment I was pretty ok. Especially since I’d been thinking about giving the cute barback my number and decided that if Madison Bumgarner could finish out that game for us, I could give an adorable man my number. It went fairly well, except for one thing that you can figure out from tomorrow’s post.
The real problem started on Friday. Surprisingly, I felt ok on Thursday, but on Friday it was terrible to be at work. It was really good that I never made any Halloween plans because all I wanted to do was go home and sleep.
And sleep I did.
For some reason, I couldn’t get to sleep before 10 on Friday, despite being in bed by 7:30, and then I woke up at noon on Saturday feeling even worse. I’ve barely been able to get out of bed since then, though I did manage to get to Michael’s for a pick-me-up when I also went out to get soup-ish supplies.
It’s now Sunday evening and pretty much all I’ve done this weekend is eat the potatoes and carrots I boiled in chicken broth and then added noodles and corn to, which means that I’ve somehow lost 3 pounds and my voice.
I’m pretty sure that I’m dying, and it’s all because I went to watch the Giants win the World Series on Wednesday instead of sleeping and getting better. 100% worth it.
At least no one can call me a bandwagon fan now. I mean, how many of them are risking dying to watch the game at a bar?