Chapter 85: Hamilton

“He’s out!” I signal while jumping up and down and shouting.

The official closes his fist and raises it above his shoulder. “Out!”

Out! That’s three! Game over! We win!

We win. We won the World Series. Every muscle in my body flexes as the infielders swarm me. It takes all my strength to remain upright. I can’t risk injury on the bottom of a dogpile. Adrenaline courses through my veins as warmth engulfs me.

I struggle to pull in a breath and tears stream down my face. I’m crying. I’m freakin’ crying. On one of my upward jumps, I notice our large group gathered in the infield. The bench clears and coaches join in our celebration on the field.

Television cameras and the media begin to infiltrate our mob, seeking photos and interviews. Staff from the head office begin corralling us this way and that for the networks. T-shirts and hats declaring the Cubs World Series Champs fly through the air with orders to put them on.