Wednesday's crowd in Civic Center Plaza waiting for a public broadcast of World Series Game 7 was oddly mellower than Game 6 the night before.
It felt less like gangbangers who wanted to get drunk in public and break stuff up, and more like serious fans wanting to root their team on with fellow fans.
Through a comedy of errors I ended up at a Merola Opera trivia night at the Sugar bar on Hayes Street which had been commandeered by a mixture of Giants fans and Phish fans who were getting drunk before a concert at Bill Graham auditorium across the street from the World Series extravaganza in Civic Center. Though Sugar is two blocks from my apartment, I had never been in the bar, but it turned out to be an absolutely perfect place to watch the Giants win their third World Series in five years, not too crowded, plenty of TVs, and an exuberant crowd.
The real magician of the Giants team is catcher Buster Posey above. Watching him play baseball in his down-low way has been an illuminating exercise. He's god and tries to make sure no one knows it, though he keeps leaving clues to his divinity for those paying attention.
I suspect that a lot of fans have shrines to the whole team but I certainly agree that Buster is a baseball god. There was enough worship today to boost all of them into the pantheon of contemporary gods.
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