By Albert Samaha

Columnist

It’s not a great time to be in SacTown. The temperatures rival the scores of a Golden State Warrior game. Inhaling is a labor on par with trying to tackle Jahvid Best in the open field, as the air is composed of a vile concoction of the grime and filth blown into the Valley from every angle of California, resulting in pollen the size of grapes. And morale is flatter than Keira Knighlty thanks to the disappointing NBA Draft Lottery- yet another example of the Kings getting screwed. As Gonzo would say, The Fix Is In.

In contrast, Daygo has maintained a constant high/low of 72.5/71.5. The beaches are overflowing with Certified Sizzlers. And, largely due to the latter two statements, morale is strong as always.

And yet, on the eve of my eight hour voyage up I-5, past the Grapevine, through the speed traps of Kern County, and into the Capital City, my stomach turns with an odd mix of nostalgia, anxiety, and excitement.

Nostalgia for the same reasons as every other college kid going home for the summer: temporary Au Revoirs to close friends, the last few nights with a set of roommates in a dorm room, and having to leave the home to so many unforgettable moments for up to three months.

Anxiety for the same reasons that accompany any change in life: long-standing routines, deftly constructed throughout the school year, are broken, uncertainty at what’s to come, and trying to figure out how to fit in so many objectives into a single summer.

But excitement? Prior to tonight I wasn’t at all excited about going back to Sac. I love kicking it down here in Daygo, by the beach, with my friends , and in idyllic weather. I love the college life, back to backs on Friday and Saturday nights, trying to get through a season of NBA 2K9 with Dane, and, of course, interacting with countless coeds- okay, maybe not quite countless.

It all changed when I decided to get tickets to the last two Giants-Padres games. The series took place during my last three days in Daygo, so I figured such perfect timing could only be a sign from God that I had to make the short 10 minute drive to Petco for a couple of ball games. Even more prophetic, Timmy Franchise was slated to pitch in the series’ final game, my final night in Daygo. I was not missing the chance to see Timmy Franchise. Plus it gave me the perfect opportunity to rock my Barry Bonds jersey in public.

The Wednesday game was a tough loss. Though to be honest I wasn’t as intently focused on the game as my habits suggest. Thus, I was not as emotionally invested and the loss did not completely rip my heart out.

On Thursday I went to the game with Dane. With Timmy on the mound I was pretty juiced. After every strikeout I exuberantly shouted axioms such as, “Adrian Gonzalez just got Lincecummed on!” or “You got some Lincecum in your eye Brian Giles!” or “Timmy Franchise is Lincecumming all over the Padres!”

Was this mature? No. Did I get disgusted stares from middle aged Padres fans? Yes. Am I That Guy at a sporting event? Hella.

Thankfully Giants fans made a great showing, backing my obnoxious cheers with obnoxious cheers of their own. This strong visitor showing makes sense if you think about it. If you’re a Padre fan in San Diego, you know that you could go to a game any time, and thus probably take the opportunity for granted. However, if you’re a Giant fan in San Diego, then you circle this series on your calendar.

Nevertheless, it once again occurred to me how sucky SoCal fans are. And by Sucky Fans I mean: passive, coming late, pre-occupied by text messages and iPhone apps, cheering only when the big board demands it, and having less than 20,000 people in attendance when the best pitcher in the National League comes to town. 

As Henry Kissinger said, “Ninety percent of politicians give the other ten percent a bad reputation.” So I’m sure there are great SoCal fans out there. Somewhere. Probably being asked to sit down by the guy behind him. Probably being shushed by the guy to his right who is trying to make a phone call. Probably trying to watch the game while the guy on his left eagerly conveys the story of how he bargained down a used car salesman.

Of course, I can’t really blame the 90%. I mean, I Am Part of that 90%. Over the past two years I have vowed to eventually watch high school basketball blue chip Jeremy Tyler, who played at San Diego High and the Greatest College Pitcher Ever Steven Strasburg, who played at SD State. The two most discussed phenoms in their respective sports played just down the road from me- it was a remarkably fortunate opportunity for any sports fan. And yet regretfully, I didn’t see either play live once. Stras just graduated and Tyler is heading to Europe to play pro after his junior year. I missed my shot.

The reason I never watched their games is the same reason USD sporting events have less fans than the 6th grade YMCA championship game: there is simply too much stuff to do in Daygo. Beach, Gaslamp, Zoo, Balboa Park, State, and the list goes on (Wow I sounded waaaaay too much like a college recruiter for my liking).

The better the weather, the worse the fans.

Think about it. Look at the NBA playoffs for example: Laker crowds are the worst in basketball, Miami Heat crowds were embarrassing during this year’s playoffs, filling the seats no earlier than the second quarter and Orlando Magic crowds are average at best. Boston, Cleveland, Chicago, and Denver, on the other hand, bring it every night.

Nebraska doesn’t have much other than Corn Husker football. Same goes for Knoxville, South Bend, and Ann Arbor. Those stadiums are louder than a drunken Frat boy starved for attention.

As much as I love Daygo and its weather and its beaches and its coeds, I cannot wait to stand shoulder to shoulder with fellow Bay Area sports fans at Candlestick, I mean Pac Bell, I mean SBC, I mean AT&T Park. Sure we have our yuppies. Why else would wireless service be available at a ball park? But we also have our solid share of Crazies.

The Giants ended up losing Thursday’s game in heart breaking fashion. As the Padre fans seated in front of me shook hands, checked their cell phones, and tried to find out who hit the game winning single, I furiously stormed into the bowels of Petco and began uncontrollably screaming.

“Brian Wilson is supposed to be an all-star closer and he can’t even shut down the 6-7-8 hitters of a terrible line up!?!?!?”

“Why the &%$# did we let Kevin Frandsen bat in the most important situation of a game when he hasn’t even gotten a hit all season!?!?!?!?!?”

“Man, we always take the %#$& night off when Lincecum’s on the mound!!!!!”

“We obviously can’t hit, We can’t be making THREE errors in a game!!!!!”

“Two runs on ten hits!?!? We out hit the Padres every game this series!!!! Our starters gave up a total of three earned runs!!!!! AND WE GOT @#%$% SWEPT?!?!?!?!”

While the swine enjoyed their victory and their fireworks, the Giant fans prowled the concourse angrily cursing. The sound of the stadium made us sick.

I can’t wait to get back back to NorCali Cali.