After several consecutive years of mediocre baseball, my San Diego Padres had once again made it to the National League Championship Series. It had been fifteen years long since the Padres had made it this far in the playoffs. Many people thought that the Padres would be knocked out of the playoff in the first round. Well, my dad and I hadn't. Though living in San Clemente, my dad and I had both grown up in San Diego, and were still partial to our home team. We frequented the games every year making sure the team heard our cries of hope and excitement.
             Sitting in my sixty-five dollar nosebleed seat, I knew this was no ordinary game. There was so much electricity running threw the seventy thousand fans. People were all talking to strangers as if they had known them since elementary school. Smiles were ear to ear as I glanced around the stadium. The stadium was saturated with the smell of cheap beer and over buttered popcorn. The dark green grass caught my attention on the field. Lines on the grass were so straight that you knew hours had been spent in their preparation. It was about four in the afternoon, making the cloudless deep blue sky seem almost heaven like. The roar of the crowd at times was so loud that it was hard at times to hear yourself think. I turned to my dad, and when I saw the look in his eyes, I knew I did not have to explain what I was feeling.
             The Atlanta Braves were nervously jogging off the field at the end of the eighth inning. My Padres were leading the Braves 2-1. Going into the bottom of the ninth, I knew that every pitch from this point out could make or break the game, and the series for that matter. For the first time in the game, the enormous crowd was amazingly almost silent, waiting in anticipation. Everyone in the stadium knew what was coming. It was just a matter of seconds until their prayers would be answered. As the fir
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