Driving through the Castro, I notice a distinguished older gentleman walking outside the theater. He wears a white beard, a tweed blazer, and a cheerleading sweater.
It’s a white turtleneck with the word VIKINGS in purple and gold, yelling a deep V across his chest. I recognize this particular sweater from high school, suddenly recall a dozen identical girls cheering for the opposing team — a screaming, syncronized frenzy washed in October stadium lights.
The gentleman edges along with his cane, stopping every few feet to wave and smile at a friend. It’s a quiet, late Wednesday afternoon. Valley High is still going for the win.