SUPES TROUNCE MAYOR
By Pat Murphy
A view from the bleachers, befuddled
December 6, 2005
Lithe of mind and aspiring to greatness, those who pit themselves
for leadership of a city that leads the nation last night neglected
peanuts and cracker jacks to flaunt their colors and flex some
"Why would people do this?" I shivered to no one in
particular, in twilight zone coldness of a very dark Presidio.
"To get laid," Luke Thomas quipped, prescient managing
editor of the Sentinel and San Francisco's best photographer.
He wore some sort of Soviet style headgear with fuzzy earflaps,
making him look like a grinning nine-year-old.
Luke Thomas in warmer days
Photo by Supervisor Fiona
"To get laid?" I recalled heady days of
"It's a butterfly dance for young people,"
Thomas panned women players.
My eye was elsewhere, but sharp.
My understanding of the surface endeavor, and my
mind, were not.
"Well, so far," I attempted, "You,
Tourk, Elsbernd and Delepine seem to be the best at this."
"I am Tourk," exclaimed Alex Tourk,
Newsom administration deputy chief-of-staff, trying to find my
Alex Tourk, left, consoles the befuddled
"I meant Ragone," waving limp fingered
toward Peter Ragone, mayoral press secretary.
Ragone had worn shorts, inexplicably as had several
others, content with bottled water.
I had quadruple layered, bringing three ham sandwiches
(with cheese), one bag of potato chips, two bags of pretzels,
and one full quart of coca cola. I hadn't found popcorn that didn't
look stale, and someone had laughed in earlier daylight that the
place wouldn't have hot dogs.
Impressionable 14-month-old Katie, child of the
Thomas household, kept upsetting my food stash as a precocious
seven-month-old white lab, I was sure, seemed intent on impregnating
Katie, at left.
Beyond fathom, other teams waited for the diamond
in colder still darkness.
And mighty players of game San Francisco headed
for limitless possibilities of the nearest saloon.