Braves lost.

Thought I was going to die in a riot.

Had to eat the cost of two nights of hotel rooms because I couldn’t get a refund.

Dislocated or badly sprained my pinkie finger on the way home.

Got home to find my baby girl with a black eye.

And now I’m sitting here and taking in what I’m really upset about. And it’s not just because my team lost. The last few years as a Braves fan have been fucking heartbreaking.

These pictures aren’t just a manager and a player retiring from some stupid sport that doesn’t matter in the big picture. Those are men who taught me what honor, pride, and loyalty were. Those are men who helped me get over the death of my grandfather when it seemed like nothing would ever be right again. They are the closest things I’ve ever had to heroes. And they’re gone.