“90 feet, man.” I looked up. “90 feet.”

A guy a couple years younger had approached me sitting alone at the Milwaukee airport, en route back from KC on Thursday afternoon. He saw me lounging in my ironic “Always October” pullover and a Royals spring training hat that hadn’t left my head since August. I needed the interaction. The once adrenaline-pumping allure of Basement Jaxx’s “Never Say Never” and DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win” no longer infused me with energy, and I had been searching for respite in a depressing realm of alt-J remixes before he came by. We traded sob stories about our experience at the game, the (mostly) highs and lows of the playoffs, disbelief that the whole thing even happened, that Bum, and Salvy’s final at-bat. It was an outpour of emotional build-up for both of us. But, in that conversation we also talked about where we were from in KC, where we were going, and everything in between. I’m sitting on the plane now realizing that one year ago this never would’ve happened, and that the most I would’ve gotten from someone while wearing Royals gear in a Milwaukee airport would’ve been, “Thanks for Greinke,” or “How’s Yostie?”

This was one of the first realizations, or even coherent thoughts, I had been able to have since the end of the game. Upon Sandoval’s catch, before the Royals chants began, it was as if a big mute button was instantaneously pressed upon the stadium. Packs of men jumped and hugged in seeming silence, and for hours after the game this was how my own mind felt. Blank. Silent. Not able to understand or comprehend the night, much less the last month.

And what I’m starting to realize, I think, is that the two sides to this whole thing (in the most obvious sense, and to no sports fan’s surprise, the pain and the pleasure), don’t have to be equally weighted.

The part of me that’s so sad and upset about losing Game 7 knows that right now, this is the pain at its most extreme. I wanted to win that game, and part of me will always have wanted to win that game DEARLY. Part of me will always be tormented by all the double-plays, Pablo’s HBP and unlucky infield single, the brilliant HDH bullpen, Gordon’s potential ITPHR (at the fault of Gregor, no less), Salvy’s embarrassing first-pitch swing, and that one guy on the news who throws baseballs for SF.

And I’m scared we don’t realize how incredibly lucky we are to have gotten to the World Series. I don’t mean lucky that the Royals were “good enough” to have gotten there – I really mean luck. The odds of things falling into place the way they did are extraordinary. Beyond the comeback against the A’s, every ridiculous defensive play made and clutch hit and misstep by opponents culminated into the Royals entering the World Series undefeated in the playoffs. If the odds of winning a playoff game were an even 50%, then the chances of us going 8-0 to open the post-season would be 0.39%. So of all the times the Royals make the playoffs (let’s say, for argument’s sake, once every 29 years), 1 out of 256 times things will start this same way. Hey, we saw it in 5610 BC, and we’ll see it again in 9438! I realize, of course, you don’t have to win 8 straight to get to the World Series. But if you do, how much worse does it hurt if you don’t seize that opportunity and win the thing?

“You might be 70 the next time they’re there!” someone said to me Thursday. And it’s a statement too plausible to laugh at.

There were times I felt baffled. I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I had nervous thoughts of “self”-doubt, thinking that we really weren’t this good, that it just seemed too easy, and that it was going to come as a straight smack in the face when we lost 0-4 in the WS and went the way of the 2007 Rockies. Well, there was no swift smack, but oh was there a final blow.

Everything happened so quickly and then it was all over. Then I’m on a flight back to NY to live those forgotten pre-April days where I didn’t have the solace of a Royals game at night in the back of my head.

But when the pain of the loss starts to subside just a little, here’s what we can think about:

This really is about so much more than Game 7 or winning a World Series this year. This is about baseball being back in KC, where it’s been absent my entire life. It’s about the excitement I felt in the second half of the season and during the wild card game. And when we won that wild card game my excitement wasn’t that we were seven wins away from the World Series – it was that we got to play at least three more games! That happiness, bliss, elation, that euphoric aura that’s been following me around has nothing to do with Game 7. It has to do with an inherent change in baseball in Kansas City. For many of us this is brand new, and for many this is bringing back flashes of baseball three and four decades ago.

And that emotion is here to stay. It’s permanent. That emotion is something that’s gradually been building up for the past few years, growing larger as we picked things up in the second half, overpowering us as we made the playoffs (albeit just a one-game guarantee!), and then consistently bombarding us for the past month. And good Lorde, what a RIDICULOUS MONTH!

                  

I got to watch the Royals play in OCTOBER in my apartment with a KC crew, the Village Pourhouse, my apartment with my parents, a friends until he fell asleep (and then my apartment), at Camden, at Camden, at home, at home, at Pourhouse, at Pourhouse, at Pourhouse, at John Brown’s Smokehouse, at home, at Stag’s Head, and at Kauffman Stadium. It was like a video game of levels, and we just happened to lose to the final boss when it would’ve taken just one more blow to knock him out and beat the game.

In one 24-hour period my friends and I hung with Jeff Passan, were quoted on his front-page Yahoo article, chatted with Tim Kurkjian, and were up 2-0 in the ALCS. And things didn’t slow down.

                

I got to reconnect with friends from high school, family in NY, and others from KC I grew up with who I didn’t know lived blocks away from me. I “liked” posts of high school acquaintances I hadn’t seen in eight years, and it was because I actually liked their posts!

While Kansas City is still my home, I’ve often felt removed from it for the past few years, and it wasn’t until the recent consistent interaction with fellow KC folks that I became truly reconnected again.

Having said that, I’m quite jealous of everyone who got to experience this back in KC and see the city come together. Within 30 minutes of landing on Wednesday, I saw blue fountains, Royals logos mowed into beds of grass, and a TSA agent and elderly woman walking next to one another wearing the same t-shirt. Blue. Everywhere.

It’s become popular for comedians (Billy Eichner and Seth MacFarlane come to mind) to poke fun of the absurdity of fandom – that it’s silly to dedicate time, energy, pleasure, and pain to a group of adults because they were hired to work for your city. And it is kind of funny. But it’s also kind of amazing, because it’s not just about going crazy over grown men sliding around in the dirt; it’s much more about them representing a place – your place – and the people you’ve surrounded yourself with your whole life. It’s about community and embracing life through the insane talents of a few.  And the problem is that for my generation, until now, it didn’t feel great that the Royals represented our place, and when the team seldom brought us together as fans, the conversation was often mockery rather than communal excitement.  But all of that changes now.

Part of me wonders what it would be like for the average bandwagon fan if we had won it all. What would expectations be like moving forward? Would losing in the ALDS next year be a disappointment? To go from nothing to the World Series is a ridiculous thing, yet somehow we got so caught up in it that it just whizzed by. If we had won, the victories might be expected going forward, and that would be a horrible thing.

Regardless, there are real expectations now, and if they are not met, the pain will be tenfold what it was. We’ll have money saved from free agents, cash from the playoff run, upcoming season ticket sales, and Glass’ wallet, which now must be forcefully opened by the Royal claws of success echoing throughout KC. There will be plenty to do this offseason, and for the first time, everyone is watching.

For years I’ve had to accept apologies and condolences from others when explaining how I’m from Kansas City and root for the Royals. Now I’m accepting them because my team lost in the final out of the final game of the World Series. So thanks for all the texts, calls, and awkward in person “apologies”, and for those of you too scared to approach, I don’t blame you either. I really didn’t know how to respond to any of you or even myself until now, so consider this my answer.

Let’s just say I don’t think Mo’ne Davis is the only one who had “the best summer of their young life”.