I’m standing at home plate. I am holding no equipment in my hands – not bat, no glove, no baseball. There are no cheering fans, and there are no booing rivals. The scoreboard is blank. It’s been an hour since the game ended. I watched all the people in the crowd slowly filter out, conversing about the good and bad points of the game, and which umpire should have called a ball, not a strike.

I watched the other fans dangling their arms over the rail above the dugout, requesting the players’ autographs on a ball, a glove, a hat. There was one small boy whose face lit up when one of the players gave him a high-five. It gave me a warm feeling.

Now all the excitement is gone. I can still hear the winners’ fans cheering wildly, and I can still see the glowering faces of the losing team’s fans. The smell of buttery popcorn from the front row still lingers, uncertain where it will go next, and I’m sure that up, way into the seats, the stench of beer feels the same.

The atmosphere is a mixture of happiness, excitement, and bitterness. I can tell everything that went on during the game. And the marks are still there, on the field. A cluster of holes followed by a long line to home, with dust pushed away – that’s when he slid home. And the grass way over in left field, matted down far out, but still visible – that’s where his teammate made a diving catch while the next team was batting. And a couple feet from where I’m standing - that’s where the umpires argued with each other about the out. you can tell, because all the footmarks lead up there, stand and scuffle around for a little while, and make their way back.

When you look at the stands, you imagine it as it was just a couple of hours ago. You can see the vendors, the spectators with painted faces, and the bawling babies whose parents wished they’d never brought those tickets, or wished they’d remembered to bring the doll along. You can see everything, whether it happened or not.

The glaring stadium lights are beginning to dim, and I know that I have to go sooner or later. I grin, flip my hat up onto my head, and walk out in darkness.