SAN JOSE — Maybe it was quiet around 7:15 p.m. in the recesses of Almaden Valley or the cul-de-sacs of Berryessa. News can travel slowly to the hinterlands.
But at the intersection of West Santa Clara and Autumn streets, me and my 5,639 closest friends were whooping it up. Yelling. Honking horns. Waving fists in the air. All of us grinning as if Ed McMahon had just showed up at the front door with a check showing lots of zeroes.
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But Ed McMahon wasn’t responsible for the lunacy. It was Arturs Irbe and Jamie Baker and the rest of the Sharks.