World Series Game 1: The Jets vs. the Sharks and Chez Papa

Last night was game 1 of the World Series. Despite my connection to Texas, I am rooting for the San Francisco Giants because:

1.) AT&T Ballpark is in my hood.
2.) Because Lincecum is half Filipino, I contractually obligated to support him.
3.) I figured that since I live here, I might as well go for my city’s team.

Unfortunately, I didn’t watch the first game. I was actually at the opening night of West Side Story at the Orpheum hence my tweet:

@dinoray Giants may have won, but I have a “Story”-worthy update from the “West Side” (clever, huh?) in regards the Sharks vs. Jets: No one won. It turns out that racism, urban gang violence and star crossed lovers don’t mix. But gosh darn it, there was lots of dancing!

It was pretty darn amazing how they announced the score right before they raised the curtain and during intermission. Who knew that a bunch of theater lovers (including the person sitting in front of me with sour body odor) had an adoration for baseball?

But even before West Side Story, the Giants spirit was pulsating whilst dining at Chez Papa:

Is their menu always orange and black? Either way, the kumbaya unity of the city is quite remarkable. In a couple of weeks we will probably be back to normal and all be annoyed each other, so you might as well enjoy it now.

Nonetheless, we won last night and I was welcomed back to my neighborhood with clusters of drunken celebrants as well as the stench of vomit, weed, cigarettes, stale beer and Speedstick.

GO. GIANTS.