Daisy Does the 49ers: Green Bay Tops SF
 
by Daisy Barringer

There are two things in this world that give me anxiety: Missing kickoff and running out of wine. The former is the cause of year-round, wake up in a full-blown panic, nightmares. The latter well, lets be honest; I never let that happen. Seriously though, some people dream about being back at high school completely naked, I dream about being late to 49ers games or missing them completely. I know. Sounds awful, right? And yet my stingy doctor at Kaiser refuses to give me a prescription for Klonopin and instead recommends yoga. Oh, San Francisco. Always living up to your reputation

So, when I missed kickoff this Sunday because I spent fifteen minutes driving in circles looking for parking, I knew my day was off to a bad start. (Aside: heres the thing about looking for parking that kills me. You have ZERO control over the situation. Youre completely at the mercy of other human beings. It is the most frustrating thing in the world. And yes, I get that I should be in therapy. And I would be. If I thought that then someone would give me drugs.)

Anyway, back to the issue at hand which is not my desire to have a mild drug habit, but rather, the lack of parking combined with the fact that I showed up to a cash-only bar without 1. Cash or 2. My debit card. At this point, a mere three paragraphs in with hardly a mention of yesterdays game, you can probably see where the post is going, so Ill do us both a favor and get it over with.

The 49ers lost to the Green Bay Packers, 30-24. And in case you missed the game, let me tell you, the score does not reflect the poor performance of the Niners. We were trailing 23-3 at the end of the first half (Alex Smith went 3-7 passing for 5 yards; I know, Five Whole Yards!) and Aaron Rodgers had 274 yards and two touchdowns. Sure, Alex Smith brought us back in the second half, but blah blah blah blah I am so over it. We suck.

What it comes down to is this: The 49ers are incapable of playing four quarters of football. Our defense, which at the beginning of the season made me believe there was a God after all, just isnt showing up. We needed a defensive stop in the fourth quarter, but we didnt get it and the Packers ran down the last six minutes on the clock for the win. (Side note: a team actually doing something for the win is the only time that phrase is ever acceptable. The internet may tell you otherwise, but the internet is wrong.)

But its not just our defenses fault, No Sir-ee Bob! (Apparently, for the previous sentence, the role of Daisy was played by a geriatric?) Our offensive play calling is circus-esque and our offensive line makes me want to kick unicorns in the face. Even better: whenever our special teams are on the field, all I pray for is that we manage to hold onto the ball. We just arent a playoff team, and yes, it feels ridiculous to even make such a statement considering we lost five out of last six games, but there are still people who believe we have a chance.

But let me break it down for you: The only way the 49ers have a chance to make it to the playoffs is if somehow the minor concussion Kurt Warner sustained in yesterdays game against the Rams ends up knocking him out for the rest of the season. Hes claiming hell be just fine for next week, but a girl can dream Because the only QB I hate more than Brett Favre is, you got it, Kurt Warner. (Dont even get me started on his wife.)

And yes, the fact that it is almost impossible for us to make the playoffs kills me. But what kills me even more is losing to Green Bay. I hate Green Bay. I hated them when Brett Favre with his cheesy good ol boy personality was their QB (though I did kind of respect the Vicodin addiction). And I hate the fact that the 49ers have lost our last eight games against them.

And I really hate the pudgy Packers fan from the bar yesterday with a voice that could shatter glass and a dedication to shoveling food into her mouth second only to when Kimberly Drummond scarfed down an entire sheet cake in the infamous Different Strokes bulimia episode.

What was most amazing about her constant and unwavering intake of food was the fact that she simultaneously never stopped talking. Whether she was summarizing her drink consumption: First, I had a Bloody Mary. Then a mimosa. Then another Bloody Mary. Then a mimosa. And now Im having a Miller Lite! talking about her amazing fashion sense: What I really need are some green Packers converse and an Aaron Rodgers jersey, or drawing maps of Wisconsin in the air: See, right here is Sheboygan. (Points to air) And this is Appleton (Points to another spot in the air) And then this is Green Bay! (Pokes excitedly at yet another random spot in the air), this very reason chubby-chasers exist was committed to filling every second of the game with her grating one-way conversation and hideous squeal of a laugh.

There was one redeeming moment though

After yet another Packer touchdown and the ensuing clich Green Bay celebration, she turned to her friends and said, Thats called The Lambeau Leap. Its all about adulation. They grab you, hit you on the head, and spill beer all over you.

Which is exactly what I then did to her. I mean, shes the one who called it adulation. Her words. Not mine.

Next Week: SAN FRANCISCO over Jacksonville.