I was in Houston away at school when the San Francisco Giants won the World Series.
The day after we snatched the title in Game 5, I woke up and put on my San Francisco Giants starter jacket and boasted through the hallways at school with no fear in Texas territory.
I was sad that I missed all the festivities in San Francisco, like the parade and just the overall cheer the team had brought to the town.
So I thought when the San Francisco 49ers were blazing a trail to the Super Bowl, maybe not being at home when my teams were winning was becoming a tradition.
My father is the biggest New York Giants’ fan, who refers to the 49ers as the, “Forty whiners.” Normally if I wasn’t rooting for the Niners, I’d root for the Giants with my dad, but I made up my mind that this was 49ers’ season. I was wrong.
When the Giants won the Super Bowl this weekend, I assumed my dad wasn’t crying tears of joy after such a close game. As much as I wanted the Niners to be there, I’m glad that my father is happy. I’ve never been a daddy’s girl or a mommy’s girl for that matter, but in sports I guess, father knows best.