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As a young lad, I would often run to the top of the small hill to the east of my family's house, with a model of the Apollo spacecraft in hand, pretending I was transiting to the moon , and then returning to earth by splashing down in the creek just to our west. I was exuberant and full of energy in my youth, a typical toxic american male, and would often take off across the pasture or down to the creeks in bare-feet, running thorough the trees and across the gravel without a care in the world. ...

Oh my. What's that I hear on the horizon? What's that sound? A slow, distant grumbling, blasting through Westfield Shoppin Center at full speed. The wind carries the music with it, blowing through Stratford, up to the stadium and filling it completely. There are no fans there, but the fans blow the bubbles so high. And just like that, I can make out the distand roar. Headphones? Plugged in. Volume? Turned up. Oh yes, it's Champions League time.

After 31 ...