Dirk Hayhurst: Postseason full of dreams, nightmares

I made it to the gate first, my emotions driving me at a reckless pace. I couldn't get it open. Elation turned my hands into blunt tools, and I couldn't make the simple latch work. It was as if I forgot how to tie my shoes. Something so simple was now so foreign in the intensity of the moment.

The rest of the bullpen was instantly behind me. Suffering from the same adrenaline stupor, they would've pushed me through the fence or knocked it down had I not managed to open the gate. When it flung wide, we burst through like a raging river. Across the outfield we ran, screaming like warriors charging into battle. It was the last sprint we would run that season.