By the time I get finished with the post-game interviews, I’m fucking frantic.

I can see from the field that the family box is empty. Lights out. The stands have cleared.

There is only one place where people are congregating—the home team sideline—and I swear to Christ, if the security team allowed Stella down here, I’m going to tear a hole in the sky. There is alcohol and groupies riding on the shoulders of my teammates. Even the coaches are acting like fools, singing and guzzling ...