I sat down to watch the last half of the 5th game of the World Series with very high hopes. As most of you know the first half ended in the middle of the 6th inning as a suspended game due to rain. Some Phillies fans were upset at how the game was held considering the officials waited for a tie game to suspend. Had they not waited for a tie the game would have been official and the Phillies would have won. Then we could hear all about how the Phillies "didn't really win" or the Rays "got jobbed". I myself wanted them to win it on the field, fair and square.
The game began with an exciting double by a player who had not been terribly productive throughout the year. Over the course of the remaining innings we yelled, we hollered we jumped... at a certain point we put the girls to bed. Gracie stayed in bed for all of a half inning before screaming her head off. At 16 months she is already a die hard fan who was unwilling to miss this momentous occasion. 
Finally it was the last inning. The Phillies were winning 4 to 3 and I was on pins in needles. I held Gracie in my arms and she ferociously swung the rally towel I got at Game 3 above her head. The last time they won the series I was the exact same age as the girls are now. 
One out. Two outs. Strike three called... FINAL OUT. GAME OVER. PHILS WIN!! 
Gracie and I jump and twirl and scream and I even get choked up and cry (wuss!). I have been waiting for this moment since I was a 6 year-old-girl. And it finally happened. In an historic game that took three days to complete, they did it. 
My beloved team, who I devote so many hours a year, whose names I wear on my back and whose posters I hang like a teenager in love with Davy Jones (ok, old I know, couldn't think of a modern day equivalent. That one is for my Mom). They did it. They won.
On to the PARADE!
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