t was a game ... no it was ''the'' game. It was baseball, and it was the championship. I could taste victory. It was so sweet it made sugar taste like dirt. Victory was running through my veins and up and down my spine. It was the focus of all my thoughts and the purpose of all my movements. It had entrapped me in a trance and I could not get free until I had fully obtained it. And with a one-run lead and two strikes and two outs in the bottom of the ninth, my need for victory had reached its peak. The other team had the bases loaded and was down to its last out. All we needed was a strike and the championship would be ours.
Streeeeerike Three!!
What happened next I will never forget. It was complete euphoria. I started soaring. I flew high into the air above the diamond. I was rising and rising. I could see the whole field with boys jumping and singing. I could see the now-insignificant city being overwhelmed by joyous cheers of victory. I rose higher and higher. I rose through the clouds and found myself standing at the door to a magnificent palace. Its towers soared endlessly upward. On the rooftops, statues lined with gold and jewels stood with looks of pride and joy on their faces. The palace door was large enough for a jet airliner, but it opened just for me.
I walked into a great hall. It was full of the most beautiful art. Its walls were decorated with beautiful tapestries and paintings of baseball. Ozzie Smith's glove was bronzed and sitting on top of the bright gold ''shrine of fielding.'' There was a majestic statue of Jackie Robinson diving into home plate ahead of the tag. My family, my friends, and all the people of the world were there. I walked to the head of the hall where Casey Stengel sat me in a magnificent chair built out of golden bats and the softest leather. It was the throne of victory.
I sat at a huge table with all my teammates. In front of us, the cheering masses shouted with glee. To our right sat Ted Williams, and The Sultan of Swat himself (Babe Ruth). To our left sat baseball greats such as Willie Mays and Joe DiMaggio, while at our feet Mo Vaughn, Roger Clemens, and Dan Duquette bowed down in reverence. Tinker, Evers, and Chance served us glorious food, fit only for the gods of baseball. People threw beautiful flowers at our feet and started chanting ''Brookline! Brookline!'' louder and louder until the hall shook and the chandeliers fell. I sat there taking in as much I could. It was the greatest day of my life and I could contain myself no longer. I leapt to the table and held up my golden goblet filled with the sweetest, most succulent juice anyone has ever tasted, and toasted, ''To Victory!'' My teammates, the cheering throng and the great ballplayers of past and present all echoed ''To Victory!''
