Taking In the Field

Anyone who doubts the magic of baseball should have been on the Dodger Stadium field last night to watch postgame fireworks. I can't remember the last time I've seen so many giddy people in one place.

Before and after the spectacular, thousands of grown men and women — including me, Hudson, Al Toby, and Adam Graham — ran around the outfield, played games of catch, took pictures, and did pushups (Adam, Mike, and Al). Everyone bent down to run their hands over the immaculately clipped grass and scoop up a bit of warning-track dirt (the sod under the grass is just soft enough for a game-saving, diving catch; the warning-track dirt is surprisingly rubbery). Al pointed out the foul lines were painted on the grass, while I couldn't help kick up the chalk on the dirt. While bending down to smell the grass (I did it at least twice), I noticed that someone had cut out a golf-ball-size trophy for himself. A kid who had succeeded at his gymnastics lessons did back flips and somersaults.

I pantomimed catching a fly ball and gunning down a runner at home. I also stretched into the stands for a pop-up and then quickly relayed the ball back to second to hold the runner. And — this is what I'm most proud of — I slid hard, leaving a grass stain that I hope never comes out of my jeans.