It was a crisp October evening, and Yankee Stadium was buzzing with energy. Game 5 of the World Series had drawn fans from all corners of the country, and the tension was palpable. You sat with the other Dodgers WAGs in a designated section of the stands, dressed in your Dodgers jacket, matching with the other WAGs, Your two-year-old daughter, Y/D/N, was perched on your lap, noise cancelling headphones over her ears, waving a small foam finger that was almost as big as she was.
Jack had been preparing for this moment for days, and you knew how much it meant to him to take the mound in such a pivotal game. As the announcer called his name, the Dodgers fans erupted into cheers, and your heart swelled with pride. You gave Y/D/N a little bounce on your knee.
“There’s Daddy!” you said, pointing toward the field. Y/D/N clapped her hands, giggling.
The bottom of the first inning started with an out and then a walk, and bit your lip. It was just one walk; Jack could handle this. But then Judge stepped up, and with a single swing, sent the ball soaring into the stands. Your breath caught in your throat as the Yankees took an early 2-0 lead.
“It’s okay,” you murmured under your breath, as much for yourself as for Jack. “He’ll settle in.”
But before you could even exhale, Chizholm Jr sent another ball flying over the fence. A back-to-back home run. Your stomach sank as the crowd around you erupted in cheers. You glanced down at Y/D/N, who seemed blissfully unaware of what was happening.
“Mommy, why is everyone yelling?” she asked, her big, curious eyes looking up at you.
“They’re just excited, sweetheart,” you said softly, brushing a hand over her curls. “Daddy’s working really hard out there.”
Jack managed to close out the first inning, but the damage was done. By the time the second inning rolled around, he gave up another run, and the Doc came out to pull him from the game. You watched as he handed over the ball and walked off the mound, his head slightly bowed. The weight of disappointment was evident in every step he took.
Your heart ached for him. Jack was his own harshest critic, and you knew he’d be beating himself up over this. You wanted to run down to the dugout and remind him that one game, one inning, didn’t define him, but all you could do was sit and wait.
The game continued, and the Dodgers struggled to find their rhythm. By the fourth inning, they were down 5-0, and the mood in your section was somber. You tried to keep your spirits up for Y/D/N, who was now snacking on some popcorn, completely unfazed by the stakes of the game.
But then, in the fifth inning, something changed. The Dodgers' bats came alive. One single by Kike turned into back to back errors by Judge and Volpe letting Edman and Smith get on base. A miscommunicated infield single by Betts brought in the first run. A single by Freeman brought in two more runs. Then a double hit by Teoscar brought in two more runs. Suddenly, the energy shifted, and the Dodgers had clawed their way back to a 5-5 tow
You leapt to your feet, cheering so loudly that Y/D/N started clapping, mimicking your excitement.
“Mommy, are we winning?” she asked, her little face lighting up.
“Not yet, but we’re close, baby!” you said, bouncing her on your hip.
The game remained tied until the sixth inning when the Yankees scored a run on a sac fly. By the 8th inning the Dodgers managed to push two more runs across the plate with sacrifice flys, taking a 7-6 lead. The tension was unbearable as the game headed into the ninth inning. Every pitch, every swing, every out felt like it carried the weight of the world.
When Verdugo struck out swining, the Dodgers players stormed the field, celebrating their victory. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and you felt tears streaming down your face as you hugged Y/D/N tightly.
