There is something unexplainable that happens to you when you're at a baseball playoff game. Every strike is vital, every ball exciting or tragic. The roar of the crowd and beat of the organ pulsing through your veins. There is something very heady about it all.
We went to the NLCS (National League Championship Series) Game 4 with high hopes. So much hope that we were talking of the World Series as if it were a done deal. We would surely be at the fall classic. Baseball is a funny thing. You are up one minute and crushed the next. By the 7th inning we were flying on cloud 9 - fans waving their rally towels and chanting "Phillies Suck". Ah, how foolish we were. The top of the 8th sucked the life right out of Dodger stadium. You could hear a pin drop as the 2nd home run soared over the right field wall. It was 7 to 5, Phillies.
As I'm often fond of saying, hope springs eternal. The bottom of the 8th and the 9th brought little glimmers of hope but it was soon dashed and the crowd of 56,000 streamed out of the stadium, quiet as mice. We were down 3 games to 1. If ever there was a time for hope, it is now.
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