The calm in the streets last night was deafening. Not a horn honk, a note from a drunken frat boy tenor, nor the bloodcurdling shrill of a Latina “forty fucking niners!” could be heard. They’d won the NFC championship but you’d never know it from the groundswell.

Gone are the days of bon fires in the streets and the (alleged) high jacking of Muni buses. When I went for a walk last evening the town was like a morgue. I did run into one tranny in a fake fur Politburo ear flapped hat who showed signs of exhilaration. “We’re back in the Super Bowl!”

I asked her if she didn’t think the street reaction seemed muted compared to celebrations in the past. She didn’t care. She’d been down at the adult bookstore on Mission Street giving blow jobs and business was booming. Thank god for at least one strand of continuity.

I’m guessing there may be new ways to measure fan response that I’m not privy to. Possibly the keyboard clacking of “likes,” “faves” or customized emoji brought cellular service in the Bay Area to a standstill. Or maybe there’s a cloud community where today’s youth go to feel as one.

I’m not letting this cultural disconnect get me down, however. I’ve got my Aunt knitting away on special edition 49er dog sweaters that are available for a limited time only at $49 each. We’re practically giving them away! Practically.

If anyone is interested please contact my puppy needs a pullover. And there’s no team loyalty here. If you’d prefer them in other colors we can accommodate. I’ve threatened my Aunt that if she can’t keep up with demand I won’t hesitate to bring in the Burmese children who have served me so well in the past.

Since the Yorks took over the Forty Niners and moved them to Santa Clara I’ve lost all interest in the team. I don’t even know the names of the new players. But I do know that as long as Montana is at quarterback, they’ve got a chance.

Go Niners! (Ka-ching!)