Who's Got It Better Than Us?

I was at King of Thai when the 49ers won the Divsional. When we won our first playoff game in nine years. When Vernon Davis made The Grab.

I watched the first quarter at home, then jumped in a cab to meet up with Roy and Kendrick in North Beach. We got snarled in the usual Chinatown traffic so I jumped out of the cab two blocks early, and without seeing the sports bar, I could here it already.

I sat down at the table Roy had reserved for us, with a pitcher of Sierra and some cute girls, but I didn't stay in my seat much. Everyone was wearing red. Everyone was shouting. Everyone was drunk. We had the lead for the first three quarters, so everyone was cheering.

Then Drew Brees rallied his Saints, and with that touchdown that got them their first lead, 23-24, the bar just deflated. The guys who'd been standing three feet from the big screen all afternoon sat down. Roy's buddies got up to pee. The girls at our table put their heads in their hands. It was quiet.

Then all of a sudden this lanky drunk guy in a jersey stood up a chair and shouted at the crowd:

"Don't be fucking sad! What the fuck are you getting quiet for? We're going to score on this drive. We're going to fucking win this game!"

And he was right. Alex Smith ran for 28 yards, balancing on the sideline like it was a tightrope, and scored. 29-24.

Well, you know what happened next. Drew Brees threw to Jimmy Graham, who ran for a 66-yard touchdown. Two-point conversion. 29-32. Again, the bar got quiet.

I stared at my beer. There was a minute 37 seconds left. Most of us could barely hope to get Akers within range for a field goal and send it into overtime. Then…

"What the fuck are you all looking down for?" The tall drunk guy shouted from on top of his chair. "We're about to win this fucking game! Get up. We're going down the field and we're gonna win this game!"

And he was right.