No swing and a miss

The phillies lost the NLCS.

But you already know that because it was a week ago and your life has gone on.

Let me just quickly paint a picture for my own closure.

I went to a weird, mostly empty pseudo-sports bar and watched the game on silent because college football takes precedence in the south. Baseball? What's baseball?

But I went and watched because I am a loyal (postseason) fan and I wanted to watch them beat the odds in public.

I wanted to run down the street chanting after their victory.

And I watched, and cheered, then squirmed and feared.

Then, the end.

An athlete, adored by fans, paid millions of dollars a year to hit a ball, steps up to the plate.

His team is down 3-1 in the series and down 3-2 in this game.

This game is everything.

It's the ninth inning. 2 outs. 2 strikes.

This is his moment. He could be the hero.

The pitch.

The perfect pitch.

Sails over the plate.

The player is paid millions of dollars a year to hit the ball really far.

The ball whizzes through the strike zone.

The player doesn't move. The bat doesn't swing.

The strike is called.

It's over.

The world series dreams are dead.

And he didn't even swing the goddamn bat.

Sure there is always next year. But it'll never be the same. Players will leave for more money. Fans will be more skeptical.

And the love in my heart for Ryan Howard will never be the same.