It's about ten at night. For the past five hours or so, I sat and stood in the freezing cold at Yerba Buena watching Game 6. As the fog rolled in, the orange lights that deck out the city now gave the night sky an orange hue. As Homefine and I polished off a little bit more than a six-pack, it just felt like it was going to be the night. Hell, if Shawon Dunston starts off the scoring with a two-run homer, how could it not be the night.

The crowd was huge and raucous. Real baseball fans- they knew when to cheer and when to stand they called the players by their baseball names (Rich Aurillia, for example, is not Rich Aurillia, but Richie) and knew their strategy. As the game wore on and more people came on by, the place, an entire downtown park, filled up. There was people watching from the balcony of the Metreon, people watching from inside the Metreon, and people stacked up top on the Mezzanine at the back end of the park. And everyone was into it. I couldn't hear a damn thing from the huge TV screen that was set up for us, but I didn't even care. It didn't matter. It was such a great feeling, such a great vibe. It was that feeling you so rarely feel that despite the fact everyone was strangers, they were all together, as one. Everyone was happy and everyone was talking to their neighbors, high-fiving them, talking baseball with them. It was a scene, man.

Bonds crushed a homer and then Lofton did his stuff. It was 5-0 and the Angels looked defeated. The crowd was singing and cheering and everyone stood. A father put hi little girl on top of his shoulders to watch the TV and when she held up a stuffed hamster, the crowd around her started chanting "Rally Hamster! Rally Hamster!" The middle aged African-American male in front of me, surrounded mainly be kids in their twenties, kept on turning back to me to give and anyone else around his color commentary. You could feel it in the air, that if the Giants won, the place was gonna rock. The crowd, all 15,000 of us, all jumping and standing and cheering, were gonna rampage like Vikings when it was all over. Just the thought of the celebration made excited. Maybe even more excited than the Giants winning. And just the thought that finally, one of my teams was gonna win it all was, well, just too much to even comprehend.

I should have known, damnit. I started saying "when we win" as opposed to "if we win." Somebody started selling "World Championship" t-shirts and a reporter from A.P. asked me if he could do an interview with me after the victory. Should have known. Should have listened to the guy in the Giants t-shirt, a guy ten years younger than me, tell his friend that "I've been a Giants fan too long to not know something's gonna go wrong."

And it did.

If the Giants win tomorrow, Game 6 means nothing. Just a hiccup, just some more added drama for all those people who think this Series is lame because the Yankees aren't in it. If they win, all will be alright. And if I go back to Yerba Buena, I'll get the celebration that I wanted tonight just one night later than I thought. But if they lose, oh, if they lose….

Everyone knows about what life is like as a Red Sox fan. If you know any of them, just go up to them and say the words "Game 6" and they'll immediately get a sickish look on their face. Hell, even the name Bill Buckner makes most Sox fans queasy. And now, if the Giants do lose, we'll have our Game 6. Twenty years from now, all of us Giants fans will hear those words, "Game 6" and immediately get that same sick feeling that they have tonight all over again.

Tomorrow's gonna be a long day…..