January 15, 2003

I WAS AT that game – the one against the N.Y. Giants, when the Niners came back from 38-14 to win 39-38. The game. The one everyone but readers of the Bay Guardian won't stop talking about. When they say how the fans played a big role in the miraculous comeback, they're talking about two little guys with their backs to the wall, last row, upper deck, five-yard line. That's me and my 49erest friend, Wayway.

The seats, to give credit where credit is due, belong to a great, great man named Serial Killer Ray, enemy of all fish everywhere. The tickets trickled down that Sunday to Serial Killer's daughter and son-in-law, our pals One-Cents and Two-Cents. Except that these three cents had been to the Green Bay game and, being true, noble, upstanding fans, accepted full responsibility for that devastating loss rather than cowardly blaming the players, coaches, referees, or other innocents.

So when the magnitudinous playoff tickets also trickled their way, being true, noble, upstanding, and add to that unselfish fans, for the greater good of the team they let them trickle right through their unlucky hands to me, for my heavy-hitting juju, and Wayway, for his strategical expertise. They even let us borrow their bikes!

On our way to Candlestick, to continue giving credit where credit is due, we stopped to fuel up at a lucky little Third Street taquería called Aguila de Oro, or We Are the Proud and Mighty Red and Gold, and Even If You Did Beat the Eagles and Kick Us around for Three Quarters, We'll Still Send Your Sorry Asses back to New York Whimpering; Oh, and Fuck the Yankees Too.

The decision to eat there was easy, even before we knew the name of the place, let alone the English translation. Mysteriously, of all the many fine dives lining the Third Street approach to Candlestick, Aguila de Oro was one of only three places that were open, noon-thirty on a game-day Sunday. The other two were McDonald's and another taquería, El Azteca, or the Aztec.

But Aguila de Oro comes first, coming from the north, and we'd already risked our asses and our friends' bikes crossing four lanes of pregame Third Street traffic, and the guy behind the counter invited the bikes in with us, which was key because all I had was a padlock for the bike rack at the stadium.

We leaned our rides against the wall between the jukebox and the door, and ordered: a regular grilled chicken burrito, a carne asada quesadilla, a coke, and a root beer. Twelve-something. Like I said, the $5 taquería dinner is history. I'm still getting used to it.

At least the chips were badass. Thick and dark and salty and crunchy, and you could really taste the fry, like they were extrafried, or refried chips.

I preferred Wayway's quesadilla to my burrito, because the carne asada was a little better than the pollo asada, and because quesadillas get toasted on the griddle, while burritos go into the steamer machine. Mental note: just give up on burritos. Get quesadillas with beans and rice and meat on them.

Onions and cilantro. That's the other thing: They put salsa on the burritos but no handfuls of cilantro and fresh-chopped onions. You realize how important those two tastes are to your basic burrito ...

But it's starting to sound like I'm ragging on Aguila de Oro, and that's not how I want to sound. The fact that we left some of everything, even chips, behind on our table had nothing to do with the quality of the food. The food was fine. We were just too nervous to eat. It was a big game. I hadn't been out to the 'Stick all year, not even last season either, come to think of it. And Wayway hadn't been in six years. There was a lot riding on this game, and there was a lot riding on us. A win would mean more tickets to more big games trickling our way, in the interest of the team. A loss and our juju would be doo-doo; we'd be out of the rotation, back to watching on TV week after week after week, pass the Cheetos.

Head coaches think they have it bad. Cheer up, Mooch. At least you're not a fan.

Or are you? I have no way of knowing, as I write this, what happened in Tampa Bay on Sunday. Worse, I have no way of helping this time – at least not live and in person. Bet your butt though that, win or lose, I did all the right things: I wore the right underwear, drank my coffee out of the right mug, and watched at least part of the game at my new favorite taquería.

Aguila de Oro. 5201 Third St., S.F. (415) 822-0307. Daily: 11 a.m.-11 p.m. Takeout available. No alcohol. Credit cards not accepted. Wheelchair accessible.