It seems like Maggs' shot took minutes to reach the outfield. Mike and I didn't want to lose it until we had empirical evidence that it was a homer. There was jumping and hugging and running around the apartment. The pets scattered to avoid being trampled. I got down on the ground and slapped the floor with my hand. I was shaking and sweating and my voice was wavering. I had three sticks of gum in my mouth -- Gum Time to end all Gum Times! -- and I nearly choked on the chew, not to mention spitting up everywhere. Mike reinjured his heel from jumping up and down. I pulled something in my ribcage from shouting so loudly.
We instantly started calling or got calls from everyone in the Michigan Diaspora -- our dads, Steve Davis, Jon Brunt, Pat Muir, Jake Cooley, Scott W. Baird, Eric Lacey, Brian Shiels, Chris Solari ...
For the rest of the night (as I will for the rest of my life), I replayed the shot in my head and shook my head and laughed.
That feeling, friends, is why we watch.
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