The Mets blew out Zito and the Giants here in San Francisco on Thursday. It was a 9-1 final on a windy, brilliantly sunny afternoon by the bay. The new double wildcard scheme gives the Metsies some remote hope. They’re eight out of a postseason slot with 56 regular season games left to play and three teams to leapfrog.
With a broken owner and reluctance to part with youth, the Mets let the trade deadline pass without a move. Failure to reinforce the bullpen means there will be more frustrating stumbles and skids these last two months. But hey, other than the dreary 2-14 string that straddled the break, the Mets have generally played hard.
The Giants are going the wrong direction despite their first place status in the division. Their bats have gone cold. Newly-acquired outfielder Hunter Pence (pictured above) is expected to add some punch. He’s oh for his first two games as a Giant but will likely fit in nicely given his quirks.
Last night’s game was another Met win but what made it notable for me was the evening-long celebration of Jerry Garcia’s 70th birthday. The late Grateful Dead front man is revered in these parts and the Giants went all out with the tribute. Bobby Weir sang the national anthem (joined by Giants third base coach Tim Flannery and musician Jackie Greene). A Grateful Dead cover band played on top of the Giants dugout before the game and Bill Walton roamed the concourse throughout the evening. A lot of fans wore Dead gear and the band’s recorded music played between innings.
After the game, I went to see the legendary rock and roll band Pierced Arrows at the Elbo Room on Valencia. The musical career of husband/wife combo Fred and Toody Cole has spanned four decades but this is no geezer act. Formerly Dead Moon, the Cole’s enlisted drummer Kelly Halliburton to form the Arrows in 2007.
The band’s chemistry is off the charts and the alternating in-song vocal contributions by Fred and Toody make the songs that use this approach very enchanting.
I got up near the stage for the start of the show and panicked a bit when the Arrows opened their set with a few Moon numbers of the fast-paced, pure punk variety. All of a sudden, a handful of young men who looked like Fred Durst in his prime rushed the stage from the back of the room and starting flailing around aggressively. One hip check from one of these guys and my vacation would have been over. So, I tried to wedge myself out of the scrum over to the group of tough-looking but old and stocky motorcycle riders who I surmised wouldn’t appreciate body contact. This was a smart move. By standing closely to the bikers, I had protection without even asking.
Later, I found myself in another situation that was a torn knee ligament waiting to happen. A young couple standing next to me held each other upright but struggled to stay in their own space. They were so far gone on something strong, they were near lifeless. When they tried to kiss each other, they kept missing the other’s mouth. The male component of this situation crumpled to the ground a couple times and was dragged up to his feet by his girl.
I steered away from this and bought a $3 PBR. The upstairs performance space had room for a couple hundred and was packed when the Arrows went on about 11:55 PM. When it wrapped up about 2 AM, much of the crowd was still there.
The BART had shut down at that point and I wasn’t feeling confident about public transit alternatives at that hour, so I took a taxi back to the hotel. Fifteen bucks with tip. The driver, like so many people I’ve spoken to the last few days, has great pride and admiration for this city. I can see why. It’s a crazy place.
