S.F.’s jubilant winners: the happy ticket sellers

The Lord must be betting on the Giants. How else do you explain how the most unlikely of players wind up being the heroes who get us into the World Series once again?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll take the wins any way we can get them, and so will the season-ticket holders who have been making a bundle off the playoff games.

The scalper in baggy pants hawking outside the ballpark has been upended by the cat in Brooks Brothers working the Internet.

They were out in force the other night as I walked from bar to bar. Every third person was talking about how they had just made back their entire season-ticket costs.

I got a call from a friend looking for tickets to Wednesday night’s game. I made a couple of calls and found someone willing to part with two seats, five rows behind home plate, for $600 each.

“No, no, no. I’m not going to pay that,” my friend said.

A half hour later the guy who had offered up the seats called me back and said, “Man, am I glad your friend passed on the tickets. I just sold them for $1,500 a pop.”

A little later another friend called asking me to see what he could get for $150.

I called around. The answer: a parking spot. The most heated race in the city is the one for my old Assembly seat between David Chiu and David Campos. Both are supervisors, both are Democrats, both are Harvard grads and both vote the same way more often than not.

The only distinction I can see between the two of them is that Campos is a straight-up communist, while Chiu is a situational communist.

The mayor’s camp can’t seem to pick a side. Tech investor Ron Conway is solidly behind Chiu, while Chinatown’s Rose Pak is backing Campos.

Mayor Ed Lee is being his usual silent self. Fleet Week was back and bigger than ever. The Marina Green was more packed than Dreamforce, and the Bay Bridge was a parking lot for hours as thousands of Blue Angels fans tried to make it into the city in time for the show.

And what a show it was — although I have to say, the Fat Albert transport that accompanies the fighter jets and the United Airlines 747 that came flying over the Golden Gate Bridge were the highlights for me.

The most disappointing act of the week was President Obama. He stiffed everyone from the Angels to the Navy people commissioning the warship America.

He was staying about 10 blocks from the ceremony for the newest addition to the U.S. fleet and couldn’t be bothered. Bad mistake on his part. Speaking of the Blue Angels, a special thanks for their flyover at the dedication of the veterans monument next to the War Memorial building.

After 82 years, the city finally made good on its promise to build a memorial, and it really is impressive. The dedication ceremony, which featured Sen. Dianne Feinstein and former Secretary of State George Shultz, was so crowded I couldn’t really see the artwork, so I went back the next morning for a closer look.

The water, the carved stone, the poetic inscription with City Hall in the background — it’s well worth your time. Movie time: “The Judge.” Two and a half hours of dialogue between Robert Duvall and Robert Downey Jr. Duvall plays a distant father and judge in trouble with the law, and Downey is his lawyer son who hasn’t spoken to him in 20 years.

Add in a couple of courtroom scenes, none equal to “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and you pretty much have the movie. It’s like going to the opera – you go to the opera just to talk about it. You can’t really put your hands on whatever it is Salesforce sells, but they do put on one heck of a convention.

The most interesting part is the crowd it attracts. Unlike the Oracle and Apple groupies, the Dreamforce conventioneers look and act like real people.

The Civic Center concert featuring Bruno Mars was like being at a Grateful Dead show: People were dancing and talking to each other rather than staring down at their smartphones. I was at City Hall the other morning with 15 minutes to kill, so I went downstairs to vote. It was just me and rows and rows of empty voting booths.

“What time did you open?” I asked one of the three election workers at the front desk. “Eight o’clock.” “It’s 9:15. Am I your only customer?”

The look of embarrassment on the clerk’s face was the only answer necessary.