We learned about the Giants game as we strolled past a standard sports bar in North Beach, on our way downtown. Lynn and I were halfway through our Epic Walk, on our way to hang out with The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. I guess parrots don't like Gold Fish, and apparently it's now a crime to feed birds in the City (not that we're scared of park rangers), so we decided to go try our luck at catching a possible record-breaking home run. Neither of us ended up catching The Ball (I'd be on my way to Italy by now), but now I can someday tell my grandchildren, "I was there." Yeah, I was there when Barry Bonds hit home run number 756 beating Hank Aaron's 33-year record, beating the record with the help of steroids.
I was excited to be a part of the historical moment, but not nearly excited as some people.
