It began with an organ, perched high above the grandstand. The visiting team dotted the outfield, smoke from grilling hot dogs wafted up the aisles, navy jerseys blanketed the stadium bowl. Game on the line, the batter strode toward the plate with confident steps. From the loudspeakers, the ascending rhythm pulsed, slowly, repeating.
The stadium began to rumble.
The action on the diamond stood frozen. Slowly the fans started clapping and whooping.
The organ played louder, and louder, and louder.
A swell of people emerged from their seats. The batter rocked back and forth, calculating, waiting.
DUN-da-DUN da-DUN-da-DUN da-DUNNNNN.
The cacophony settled into unison, beating faster, surging, until the melody erupted—CHARGE!—and the entire crowd exclaimed. Crack. The ball ricocheted off the bat and clear over the outfield wall, as if carried there by the surrounding roars.
As I leapt euphorically from my seat in the stands, I realized then and more so now that I do not need to hit the homerun to feel the satisfaction of triumph. Instead, I want to be the organ player, rallying the crowd, until the deafening cheers prevail. The more people that come together, the more the riches of success can be shared and limitless.