Entitled was the best way to describe how I felt in Brett's jersey. I wore it tied in at the waist with my best skin hugging jeans. To the untrained eye, I appeared as another fan but if someone accused me of that, I'd quickly correct them. I'd say, you see this tear right here, grabbing at the hem of the shirt, that's from when we played the Tigers and this hole was from a match getting thrown at Brett in the last inning against the Angels. Their fans were brutes.
See, I would say, It's not just a*****e jersey. It's Brett's. It's mine.
To my dismay, no one ever asked me. No one noticed what I wore or tried to approach me as I went to the employee stands. I'd polish the speech off for the next game - just in case.
Andrea flashed me a haughty, knowing grin as I settled down beside her. I
