If only my team would win at last.
If something would change, I would, too.
And yes, I’ve found this:
Winning the World Series, or your team doing so, results in tearfully running by the center field gate.
Shrieking while snatching up stadium editions of newspapers, trying not to crumble them in beer-streaked fingers.
And, joyfully taking photographs of ecstatic fans who have index fingers pointing skyward.
It also results in walking around a stadium, alone, stepping around shattered glass while looking for friends at stoplights.
Watching my favorite baseball broadcasters pause only briefly before huddling in SUVs, pancake makeup covering their familiar faces.
And, staring back at cops as they beam light into my eyes to check my sobriety.
Abundance and emptiness at once.
by 