The man punched a little round hole in the corner of my ticket and smiled. “Right this way, sir.”

To my surprise, he didn’t just point me toward the stands—he escorted me the whole way. He wore a red-and-white striped shirt and one of those old-fashioned straw hats I’d seen in pictures from my kids’ birthday parties. We climbed narrow stairs, passed through a dim green corridor, turned a corner, and stepped into blinding sunlight.

I stood overlooking a perfect baseball diamond, groomed like a dream. My guide pointed to my seat: between home plate and first base, just one section up. My favorite spot in any ballpark.

I worked my way down the row and felt a jolt of recognition. My old college baseball coach was sitting right there.

The crowd let out a collective groan as another batter took a called third strike, kicked the dirt, and stormed back to the dugout.

“Hey, Coach,” I said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He turned, his eyes bloodshot, and gave me a tired smile. “Bobby. Good to see you, boy. Didn’t think I’d see you here either.”

I laughed. “Nobody’s called me Bobby in thirty years.”

“Even so,” he said, patting my leg, “it’s a surprise.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty surprised myself. One minute I was driving, arguing with my attorney at a stoplight. Next thing I know, I’m standing out front with a ticket in my hand.”

Coach gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s how it goes.”

Another called strike. The batter knew better than to argue for long.

“How’s the family?” I asked.

Coach shook his head. “Haven’t seen much of them lately. My youngest just had her second baby. I probably should’ve gone with my wife to visit, but it was Super Regionals.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

I nodded. I knew exactly how it was. I’d missed birthdays, anniversaries, and too many family moments for the sake of the game.

“I know, Coach. My wife still gets frustrated with me. She doesn’t understand that the season is short and every game matters.”

Coach sighed, staring at the field. “The love of the game… I just wish I’d skipped a few more games and made it to a few more parties.”

I chuckled. “Hey, there’s always next time.”

The sharp crack of the bat cut through the humid air. The ball soared high before settling into the center fielder’s glove with almost no effort. Routine out.

“Damn,” I  muttered, wiping sweat from my face. “Thought we might finally see a run.”

We sat there baking in the afternoon sun. I could’ve killed for a cold beer. The scoreboard showed zeros through the sixth inning.

“Wow, a pitcher’s duel,” I said. “Zero-zero in the seventh.”

Coach just nodded.

“Cold beer! Hot dogs, twenty-five cents!” A cheerful vendor climbed the stairs, a tray of perfectly poured beers swaying gently. The glasses glistened with condensation. No one around us seemed interested. Strange for a day this hot.

“Want one, Coach? My treat.”

He looked at me sadly. “You buying?”

“Only a quarter.” I reached for my wallet. It wasn’t there. Neither was my phone or keys. Just empty pockets.

“Damn. Must’ve left everything in the car. Spot me this round?”

“Sorry, son. I’m tapped out too.”

The vendor passed by, singing his little song. I could smell the beer as he went.

I turned back to Coach. “Is the scoreboard right? It says Babe Ruth is up.”

“Yeah. He hasn’t had much of a day.”

My stomach tightened. “Coach… am I dreaming?”

He looked at me with ancient sadness. “Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Cy Young, Honus Wagner—they all get their turn here. I watched Ty Cobb. Would’ve loved to see him make contact.”

The cold feeling in my gut grew heavier.

“Coach… how long has this game been going on?”

He stared at the field. “I don’t know, son. It’s been the seventh inning as long as I can remember.”

The truth hit me like a fastball to the ribs.

I tried to stand. My legs wouldn’t move. I struggled harder, and suddenly every face in the section turned toward me, laughing softly.

“Hey! What the hell’s going on?”

Coach didn’t even look at me. “We don’t leave till the game’s over, son. None of us do.”

The vendor’s voice drifted back down the aisle, cheerful and endless.

“Cold beer! Hot dogs, twenty-five cents…”