My favorite is a little chip from the former coach's son, over a leaping defender, to the chest of a certain Texan, who slots a perfect diagonal ball to the foot of a certain small, sensitive, fast Californian who settles it with one touch before firing a low laser into the bottom corner. Sometimes, as I'm getting sleepy, it is not the Californian but me making the net billow, beautifully. Obviously it doesn't make any sense but we're not talking about sense here. I've never told anyone about this. I am a grown adult. I have a 401(k).
Seth Sawyers is a writer living in Baltimore. His work has appeared in The Rumpus, The Millions, The Morning News, The Baltimore Sun, and elsewhere. He is working on a novel about a 10-foot-tall office worker and is an editor at Baltimore Review. He can be followed on Twitter @sethsawyers.