everything looks perfect from far away

dwelt a miner, a forty-niner

Friday and, for that matter, this entire weekend felt rather like one of those dreams that have a bunch of disconnected images passing by one after another. After spending the afternoon making sandcastles (for work, no less... hmm... maybe it's time to stop complaining about the soul-sucking work situation), and having a few highly effective vodka tonics, I got a phone call from V. He had free tickets to a 49ers exhibition game, and asked if I was interested in going. I ditched the plans I had for the evening and accepted.

Going to a 49ers game was not a foregone conclusion for me, even for free. I have always firmly held anti-49ers sentiments, and these are not likely to be swayed by remaining in San Francisco for any amount of time. Furthermore, there is the matter of actually watching a football game at a stadium. Football is one of the few sports that, from a spectator's perspective, is far more enjoyable on television than in person. Why?

• I have always been freezing at these damn games. This stems from going to Pats games in my youth, and now from games at Monster Park, brilliantly situated in the perfect point in the Bay Area to collect all the fog and cold wind from the area. My kingdom for an indoor stadium!
• Stupid fans. I am convinced some people attend football games for two reasons: 1) to mug for the stadium cams in a desperate attempt to get some big screen time, and 2) to stuff their faces with frightening-looking hot dogs and beer.
• Did they make first down? Was that pass interference? What did the ref just say? Followed by looking at the big screen to see the play re-enacted. Hey... couldn't I do this at home more comfortably?

Still, all complaining aside, I decided to go because it was an exhibition game, which means it counts for nothing anyway. Further comfort could be derived from having zero stake in either team winning. I was conflicted once I got there. We went with PG, who is a die-hard Titans fan. Since PG is annoying, and I counter annoying with annoying, I felt the need to cheer for the 49ers. But this felt wrong, really wrong. In the end, I cheered for myself, when we left the stadium. Both teams were playing like they were part of an amateur league; it was painful. Apparently, according to the news, after we left, the game got interesting. I have trouble believing it.

I love NFL referee behavior though. They are always such tiny men in comparison with the behemoths running around smashing each other to pieces on the field. But there is something amusing about the way they run to their spot and yell out "Holding on number 85. Offense. Ten yard penalty. Still first down." in that stilted, gruff way that all refs do. Do they train to speak like that?

I would really love it if I could get a ref like that in real life. I can see him running in during a meeting and barking, "Comment off-topic. Fifteen-minute penalty. No talking. Restart the clock." Or better yet, I would like to serve as a ref myself. When my friends are talking about some guy who is jerking them around, I want to accompany them on a date, and interrupt their dinner with a "Vague inuendo. Offense. State your intentions. 3rd and goal."

It's probably a good thing I haven't revealed this aspiration to my friends.

In other news, every time Alanis Morrissette murders Seal's Crazy, the baby Jesus cries.